Oliver Irons and the Original Fire
by CzarSoza
Summary: Oliver Irons was mortal. Of that, he was very much aware. Why he was constantly attacked was another matter. Nonetheless, he had a duty, a task handed down through his family for countless generations by the Titan Prometheus himself: Protect the Fire.
1. No Rest For The Wicked

The thick, coppery taste in Oliver's mouth was getting annoying. The blood was slick against his tongue and teeth, and he had to spit it onto the concrete every so often so he didn't choke. The crescent moon above him bathed the battle torn alleyway in soft moonlight. The walls of the buildings rose around him, blocking him into the small, closed alcove. The ashes of the three hellhounds were already gone, blown away by some unfelt wind, but the evidence of their presence was unmistakable. Deep scores in the ground from where they had dug their claws into the concrete like it was butter and leapt through the air. That distinct, sulfuric stench that all creatures of the Underworld seemed to possess still hung in the air. The lasting, echoing howls that tore loose from their dying throat still rang in his ears, a promise to return and rip their quarry to shreds.

Oliver just sighed and struggled to stand, leaning heavily against his M14 as he made his way to his feet. The celestial bronze bayonet affixed to the end of the rifle was slick with monster blood, as was the stock from when he had cracked one of the beasts in the side of the head with it. He slowly bent down and put the weapon back in his duffel bag and slung it over his shoulder, limping out of the alleyway, the bandage around his leg miraculously still firm. He forgot the name of the town he was in, but it was small and out of the way so it was just fine. Oliver got a few odd looks as he made his way down the street, but no one stopped him. He didn't really blame them for the looks, he knew what they were seeing. A tall, stick thin twenty-something year old guy with grimy white skin and curly brown hair matted down with monster blood. Combined with the limp, the dirty brown jacket and the duffel bag, he probably looked like a stupid college kid 'seeing the world'. He wished.

As Oliver shuffled down the sidewalk, cars humming past him and lamps bearing down on him, a warm, slightly uncomfortable sensation began spreading across his chest. He glanced at the pendant dangling around his neck and, sure enough, it was giving off a soft orange glow. Soon after he felt the familiar tugging in his gut, urging him into a certain direction. He muttered to himself. "If you get the attention any more hellhounds I'm pawning you off."

The pendant seemed to huff as the tugging became almost painful. Oliver was about to make another remark when he came upon their destination. A Hampton Inn. It was a two story building with a large sign in front and a dense forest wrapped around the right side like a wall. He bit back a smile and trudged in through the door, his boots leaving thick black stains on the carpet. The lobby was nice, with a few pieces of comfortable looking chairs and couches, with a granite topped receptionist desk. Said receptionist was a pretty black woman in her thirties with tied back hair and a serious expression as she typed away at the computer in front of her. She looked up when she heard him approach.

"Hi, how can-" her mandatory welcome was get short as she took in the sight before her. Oliver just gave her a tired smile, brown eyes warm with amusement. He held up a hand. "Now, before you say anything: Yes, I do look terrible, and no you don't need to call someone. Just... just give me a room, please?"

The receptionist just cocked her eyebrow at him, but glanced down at her computer screen to check the room listings anyway. "Well, room one twenty eight is open. Just down that hall, third on the left." She gestured down the hall and, after a moment's hesitation, spoke again. "How long will you be staying?"

"Two or three days. I'll let you know if that changes."

The receptionist nodded and tapped away for a few seconds. "Name on the room?"

"Jason Grace."

"Payment method?"

Oliver reached into his jacket and pulled out a deep blue card with little to nothing on it. It was one of Prometheus' many gifts, an enchanted card that displayed anything the owner wished. After all, what was mortal currency to a Titan? The receptionist gave him an odd look as she typed away the information, but she didn't say anything.

She glanced at his filthy attire. "Would you like me to send someone down for your clothing, Mr. Grace?"

"That would be great. Thanks."

She handed him his key, and he made his way down the nice hall to his room, locking, unlocking and locking the door behind him. Old habit. His room was nice, with one bed covered in a pristine white sheet, a nightstand next to it. A single window was set in the other wall, covered by thick white curtains. A door to one side lead to the bathroom and there was a small desk set against the left wall. Oliver hopped a monster didn't rip it apart. He limped over to the bed and set his duffel bag on the ground, before falling backwards onto the bed. It was soft and smelled like linen, and a soft groan escaped his throat as his muscles finally relaxed. Those hellhounds had been on his heels for the better part of a month, and it felt so, so good to be free of their awful, nightmare inducing keening every night. After a few minutes of relaxing he pushed himself to his feet and to the bathroom.

The clean, perfectly white tiles that covered the entire room almost blinded him when he turned on the light. There was a large mirror against one wall with a granite sink set in front of it, a toilet to one side and bathtub/shower combination on the other. Oliver peeled off his clothes, keeping the pendant around his neck, and carefully set them on his bed for the cleaning lady before closing the bathroom door and locking, unlocking and locking it again. As he waited for the shower to warm up he regarded himself in the mirror. But, try as he might, he couldn't keep his eyes from being drawn to one spot. Well, it wasn't so much as one spot so much as it was his entire torso. A long, jagged scar ran from his collarbone all the way down to his hip, four ugly claw marks. The skin was still inflamed from where the monster's poison had seeped in, burning away almost an inch of flesh and leaving behind a shallow groove on his body. Oliver could still hear it sometimes, that awful, high-pitched screech that ripped through the cold Vermont air like the beast ripped through his home, it's many heads thrashing with glee. He let out a shuddering breath and stepped into the shower

After scrubbing himself of the thick layer of blood and grim that coated his skin and washing the dried blood from his hair he stepped out of the shower smelling like cheap lavender shampoo and bodywash. His clothes were gone, so he changed into a plain white t-shirt and boxers from his bag, the only other outfit he possessed. He fell back onto the bed and carefully reapplied his bandages from some of the extras from his bag. The lights were off, his pendant glowing softly and giving him the only light he needed, his USP Match on the nightstand next to him, suppressor screwed tightly onto the barrel. Contrary to popular belief, he didn't go out cold the instant his head touched the pillow. Oliver remained awake for at least fifteen minutes, all of his senses working, seeking out any little abnormality in case something followed him here. When he did finally fall asleep, his sleep was shallow as not even his subconscious allowing him to fall into a state of unresponsiveness.

He was awoken suddenly by a sharp pain in his stomach and his pendant humming a high-pitched whine that hurt his ears. Before he could question it however, his vision changed. Everything appeared to be made of fire, writhing in an off-orange haze with the only exception being Oliver's body, which was a bright blue. As he watched, a form that burned a hateful blood red crashed through the window. The unmistakable outline of a hellhound reared on it's haunches and opened it's wide maw, filled with razor teeth. Abruptly the vision ended, and Oliver blinked away the fiery afterimages before letting out a curse and rolling off the bed, grabbing his handgun from the nightstand as he did so. Pain raced up his injured leg as he hit the ground at a bad angle but he bit back a cry of pain as he carefully chambered a bullet, the celestial bronze winking back at him in the soft light of his pendant.

Not a moment too soon.

The hellhound crashed through the window of his room, the glass shattering under the force of a half-ton of hell beast. Thankfully, and a bit comedically, the beast did not take into account one for important feature of the room: the curtains. Oliver watched, small grin on his face, as the monstrous hound thrashed around on the ground, desperately trying to claw off the stark white shroud that covered it. Oliver muttered to himself. "Really? More hellhounds?"  
His pendant only buzzed indignantly.

Oliver sighed and brought up his handgun, putting where he thought the beast's head was in that mass of white. Just as he pulled the trigger however, something massive slammed into him from the side and he was sent bodily to the floor, the .45 round punching a fist-sized hole in the floor next to the trapped beast. Oliver shook the stars out of his vision and looked up at the second hellhound perched on his bed, teeth bared. The two looked at each other for several long seconds, before the faint clicking of the door being unlocked suddenly filled the air. A vaguely Spanish accented voice followed a maid into the room, carrying a small hamper of his now-clean clothes. "Mr. Grace? Your clothes are-" her sentence died in her throat as her eyes fell upon the hellhound.

While Oliver wasn't sure what she was seeing, it couldn't have been good as she dropped the hamper and began telling in Spanish, running down the hall. Oliver took his chance and brought his handgun up, putting a bullet into the hellhound's jaw as it was about to chase the poor maid down. The beast whimpered as it exploded into dust and he made his way back to his feet, putting a second bullet through the other hellhound. He let out a sigh and picked up his hamper, shutting the door and locking, unlocking and locking it again. He got changed as quickly as possible as the police sirens closed in from down the street. He holstered his handgun, shouldered his duffel bag and climbed out of the window as the unmistakable sound of boots marching down the hall. Rain pelted down on him, the red and blue flashes of the police cruisers lighting up the sky. Oliver sighed and ran off into the forest, already soaking and cold and irritable. He looked down glumly at his jacket. "And I just got this cleaned."


	2. An Unfortunate Meeting

-T- = Thalia

-O- = Oliver

-T-

It was a fine day to hunt. The sky was a fine, clear blue with nary a cloud in sight, and the sun was shining bright. There was a soft, chilled breeze on Thalia's face that carried the pleasant scent of the forest. She was crouched in a thick underbrush, bow in hand, two of her sisters on either side, the others in her hunting party scattered around the edge of the clearing. All were clad in their silver huntress garb, hoods pulled up to shroud their faces, arrows knocked, upwind from their prey in the clearing. The monsters in the clearing in front of them were well armed, significantly more so than normal monsters.

Unsurprising since, if Thalia was correct (which she was) these were some of the remnants of Kronos' army that has escaped the Battle of New York, which was only a few weeks ago. After a few days of rest and recruitment the Hunters were sent out to track down any monsters that had escaped the main battle when Kronos was defeated. Lady Artemis was dispatched to track down the largest of these groups, while Thalia was sent after the second largest with small group of her sisters. They had tracked the group here, to a forest outside of a small town in Vermont. At first, Thalia insisted that Artemis bring the extra Hunters.

Turns out, they were needed. The group in the clearing consisted of more than dozen _Dracaena,_ the twin-trunked snake women that made up the main body of Kronos' army, armed mostly with heavy shields and spears, but a few of them were armed with bows, quivers at their equivalent of hips. There was also a trio of laistrygonian giants hustled around the campfire, arguing loudly and dumbly about what to eat, appearing utterly unworthy of the heavy armor and weapons they possessed. But the most worrying aspect of the group, and the one that made Thalia's blood boil, was the pair of demigods that stood just shy of the middle of the group.

They weren't armed, clad only in winter coats and torn jeans, making them look more like captives than half god warriors. Neither looked like they wanted to be there, as they both just sat at opposite ends of their little fire, staring into the flames with a slightly glazed over look in their eyes. Thalia felt a pang of sympathy for them both, despite her best efforts to suppress them. _They were the enemy,_ she told herself _, just kill the monsters, incapacitate the half-bloods and be done with it. Maybe offer the girl a spot. Depends on how it goes._

She glanced at the sisters beside her, who each nodded at her in return, ready. The plan was quite simple: When Thalia fired, everyone starts firing. Her group would aim for the giants, two more pairs would aim for the _Dracaena,_ with one of the Hunters keeping track of the Demigods. Thalia's eyes shifted to the pale wolves that lay crouched on their haunches not too far away, silently watching their prey, muscles taut beneath their silvery hides, jaws slightly opened and ready to tear out monster flesh. Thalia breathed in and brought her bow up, her sisters silently doing the same beside her, drawing the bowstring back to her cheek, silver arrow gleaming softly in the moonlight. She aimed at the biggest, stupidest looking giant out of the bunch (very difficult to notice which one that actually was) and took a breath in. The instant she loosed the arrow however, the unmistakable _crack_ of a gunshot filled the entire forest. A giant, the one Thalia had been aiming at, was turned to dust as a bullet made it's head snap backwards, dropping the leg of mysterious origin he had been carrying to the ground.

Thalia jumped and loosed the arrow on reflex, completely missing as it sailed over nearly the entire camp and before embedding itself into a tree on the other side of the clearing, almost hitting one of the Hunters stationed there. The daughter of Zeus whirled on the location from where the shot had came from, only to be greeted by arguably the worst scenario. A figure slay prone against a fallen tree, the rifle set in a notch against the wood for better stability. But it wasn't the gun that bothered the Huntress so, nor the fact that they had somehow managed to find that one spot in the edge of the clearing that they could not fill. No.

What bothered Thalia, what made her blood boil with indignation and made her eyes light up with brilliant blue electricity was that this figure was, undeniably, a male.

A male who was intruding on the sacred Hunt.

-O-

 **Earlier**

Oliver was never a fan of forests. Sure he grew up in a lodge, but he only went into the forests surrounding his home when he needed too, and never alone. They were too compact for him, the trees packed too tight together for his liking, and you never knew what could be crawling around the darkness in a forest. Mountains provided safety. If you had your back to a mountain, you only needed to focus on what's in front of you. If something managed to scale it and get above you, then just aim up. There was no hiding on a mountain. In a forest, something could be sneaking up on you from any direction. And if something was above you, good luck shooting through the treeline because unless you had thermal goggles there's no way in hell you can get a clean shot.

That was why Oliver was creeping through the forest, watching each of his steps like he was about to take a step down some stairs. He shoved his pendant down his shirt and pulled up the zipper of his jacket so that it's glow was as muffled as possible. His M14 was in his hands, fully loaded, bayonet fixed, gleaming softly in the moonlight. The barrel moved with his eyes as he stopped, scanned the forest and took a step. It was slow going, but one did not make it in the world of gods and monsters without a healthy does of paranoia. He heard a small twig snap to the left of him and he swiveled automatically, iron sights bearing down on the creature.

It was a small, harmless rabbit.

Oliver sighed and brought down his rifle. His pendant seemed to snort, and he felt like he could almost hear the thing's voice in the back of his mind.

 _Healthy? You sure?_

Oliver just grumbled and resumed his trek, muttering under his breath. "Shut up."

He walked for a while longer. The exact duration was hard to describe, but his feet were starting to hurt when he smelled the smoke. Oliver immediately dropped into a crouch. It had been a few days since the hotel, and his leg was almost completely healed. Emphasize on 'almost'. He winced as pain lanced up his leg, the wound not quite closed as it strained against the stitches he had applied to it.

Oliver refocused on the smell of smoke and began making his way towards it, keeping low to the ground and in cover as much as he could. The cold bit into his exposed skin, and the occasional brisk wind tore clean through his jacket. But it was nothing he wasn't used to. He eventually made his way to the edge of a clearing, and the sight made his heart stutter, just a bit. Three giants, more than a dozen snake lady things, and two hostages. Fantastic.

He had a mini argument with himself as his eyes darted around the camp.

 _Just leave them be_ , a part of his brain he really hated agreeing with said, _we have no part in this._

 _Really? And just leave those kids to die, to get eaten?,_ said the opposite side of the coin.

 _Those are not kids! They are teenagers, demigods probably, more than capable of making their own decisions. They got themselves into this mess, they can get themselves out of it. Now let's go._

 _No! We have an M14, good cover and a fifteen round magazine. We need to do something about this!_

 _And what happens when that magazine runs out, huh? We'll stop to reload, those snake things will pounce on us in an instant, and we'd have died for no good damn reason!_

The other voice was quiet for a moment, before speaking again. _Then we don't miss._

If a disembodied voice could groan, it did before spitting back at it's counterpart. _Look, we're pretending to be some old, great hero right now. Well, news flash! We are not demigods. We're not Hercules, or Perseus or any of them! We are just Oliver, a weak little mortal that relies on a gun and a misguided purpose that will probably get us killed anyway!_

The voices were both quiet for a long time. Oliver just looked at the two kids, at their glassy expressions and shaking forms. He was just like them not too long ago. Just a kid far from home, surrounded by things that wanted him dead in a place he didn't want to be. He sighed and shouldered his rifle. There was only one thing to do, really.

Slowly, Oliver climbed his way up into a more favorable position, a small fallen tree shrouded by dense undergrowth. He set himself down behind the log and set up his rifle in a small notch in the wood, setting his duffel bag into a small space in between the greenery. Oliver settled the stock against his shoulder and began to slow his breathing to steady his aim. He mused over which one to kill first before settling his iron sight on the biggest, stupidest looking giant of the three. With meticulous, mechanical precision and patience, Oliver squeezed the trigger.

The celestial bronze bullet caught the giant just under his eye, and his massive shaggy head was thrown back from the force of the impact before he exploded into dust. Everything in the clearing froze, staring at the pile of ash that was once the lead giant, trying to comprehend that a gunshot had just taken him down. Oliver coolly shifted his aim and put a second bullet through a second giant skull, catching it in the temple and sending it crashing through the campfire, the smell of burning hair filling the air before it could turn to dust. The last giant caught on to the act, and made to run into the forest for better cover, away from the flashes of fire that were killing his kin like cattle.

Oliver calmly fired a round into the giant's knee, throwing him into the ground with a massive _THUD._ The giant grabbed his knee and let out a thunderous roar of pain that was cut off abruptly when Oliver's next 7.62 round punched through his temple and turned him to dust. The pendant around his neck hummed a warning, and his gaze was pulled to the dozen snake women that were now racing across the open clearing, shields raised and spears at the ready. Oliver settled his sights on the lead snake woman with a shield, aiming just about where he figured her head was behind the big disk of metal. They were stuck in the past, all too used to being invincible behind their protections.

 _Let's show them how much three thousand years of weapons development makes a difference, eh?_

Oliver wasn't sure who was thinking, but he couldn't have agreed more.

-T-

Thalia kept her eyes trained on the intruder, glaring so hard it was a wonder he didn't turn to ash himself. Nonetheless, she had to give him some props: He had eliminated the giants and that lead _Dracaena_ with astonishing speed, with only the smallest amount of seconds between each shot. However, he was still intruding on sacred ground, and he will be reprimanded accordingly. But first, there were monsters to kill. She brought her arrow back to her cheek, aimed at one the snake women armed with a bow and loosed, piercing her heart and reducing her to ash.

The rest of the Hunters took up the cue, and the clearing was soon filled with the gleaming silver arrows that the Hunters were famous for. In seconds the _Dracaena_ were all dead, and Thalia now refocused her attention on their intruder and his group of _Dracaena_ , an arrow nocked and ready. Some small part of her mind that had been annoying her for ages spoke up now, sounding like the little girl she wasn't, not anymore.

 _Y'know, you should stop assuming about people. Not everyone's that bad._

Thalia set her jaw, clenching and unclenching her left fist. _That is a very big if. Now shut up._

 _That wasn't even an-_

 _I said shut up!_

-O-

The first round cleanly punched through the shield of the snake woman, taking off most of her jaw as she was disintegrated. The rest of her sisters hissed and spat furious curses as they advanced at a scarily brisk pace, twin trunks writhing against the ground and pushing them forward. Oliver stood up as they got closer, with one of the more spirited members throwing her spear at him, which landed a few feet to the left of his position. He managed to cut down about half their number with his careful, well-placed shots before one of them got within striking distance, circling around him to the right. Oliver swung his rifle barrel in her direction, desperate to get one last shot off, but the warrior just hissed and batted the end of his barrel away with her shield before lunging forward with the spear in her other hand.

Then, from the forest somewhere to Oliver's left, a perfect silver arrow came flying and skewered the monster in the neck, disintegrating it. Oliver blinked, and he followed the line of where the arrow came from, eventually meeting the bluest pair of eyes he had ever seen. They were a vibrant, electric color you didn't see often outside of energy drinks or Las Vegas signs. They would've been pretty too, had they not contained so much anger directed at him that it felt like she was trying to turn every atom of his existence into a small puddle. He turned away, focusing on the clearing. The two demigods, the two children, the reason he had started this whole mess in the first place?

They were gone.

And in their place were about half a dozen adolescent girls in glimmering sliver parkas armed with bows, searching the former camp. Oliver slowly picked up his bag, turned on his heel and took a step in the direction he came.

Only to meet those super-blue eyes once more from the wrong end of an arrow. He glanced on either side of him and, sure enough, two more girls were waiting, arrows drawn and at the ready.

Oliver's shoulders slumped as his situation dawned on him. "Dammit."


	3. Memory Lane

-T- = Thalia

-O- = Oliver

-O-

The girls weren't very happy to see him, apparently. Why that was, he had no idea, he killed the giants _for_ them. Shouldn't they be thanking him instead of pointing bows at his chest?

 _Wouldn't they be pointing arrows, not bows?_

 _Shut up._

He was sitting on a log in the center of the clearing with the scary-blue eyed girl in front of him with two of the others behind him, all armed. They had confiscated his duffel bag, along with all of the weapons on his person and had them off to one side, well out of his reach. A few small groups peeled off into the forest to track down the kids, leaving Oliver alone with the godsdamn Kanker Sisters. Despite his best efforts he couldn't keep a grin from spreading across his face at the thought. But it immediately withered and died a horrible death as soon as the blue-eyed girl glared at him, and he swore he could smell ozone fill the air.

"What's so funny, boy?" She spat, arms crossed, looking for all the world like a woman who caught someone sneaking into her house.

 _Ask her that if she's Marie, then who's Lee and May._

 _No._

 _It would be funny!_

 _Oh so you call getting shot in the neck funny?_

 _You're mortal! Their weapons can't hurt you._

 _Yeah, but I get the feeling that Marie here doesn't need a weapon to kill me._

Oliver just shook his head, avoiding that cerulean gaze for all he was worth. "Nothin', just having a little inner monologue, don't mind me."

Her eyebrow cocked upward, but she continued on regardless. "Well, you are intruding on sacred ground. State your name and purpose and you might be shown mercy."

Oliver's eyebrows shot upwards as he settled his gaze on her freckled nose. He couldn't keep the incredulousness from his voice as he half-yelled at her. "Might be shown mercy? Really? I _helped_ you lady, and this is how you-"

He was cut off abruptly as the girl on his left slapped him across the face with more force than a girl of her stature should reasonably possess. Oliver was sent to the ground as the girl hissed at him, arrow half pulled back. "You will not speak to the Lieutenant like that, boy!"

 _Lieutenant?_

 _Guess so. At least we don't have to call her Marie._

Oliver shook the stars out from his eyes and made his way to his feet, the two hunters taking steps forward and pulling back their arrows. He ignored them, and focused his attention on the Lieutenant, just now noticing the silver tiara she wore that seemed to denote her rank. Even though he stood a full head taller than her, it took almost all of his willpower to look into her too-blue eyes and say. "What the hell is wrong with you? I help you, kill some monsters for you, and you treat me like a prisoner? Why, who are you?"

The Lieutenant met his gaze evenly, and he could see the barely suppressed anger boiling underneath the surface. She let out a breath as though to calm herself and held up her palm. Oliver glanced at the two girls and realized they had fully drawn their arrows back and were about to shoot him. They would've passed right through him, sure, but it would be strange for all parties involved. The Lieutenant turned back to him, fingers tapping her bicep. "We are the Hunters of Artemis and you, boy, are intruding on our hunting grounds. Now, who are you?"

Oliver was silent for a few seconds as he processed the new information. Artemis. Goddess of the hunt, the moon and virgins, or something like that. But that just posed a new question. "If you're the Hunters of Artemis," he nodded at the blue-eyed girl, "and you're her Lieutenant, then where is she?"

Her face was set in stone though, and she spoke in terse tone. "She's away. Now answer the question."

As he opened his mouth to giver her one of his made up names, like back at the hotel, he was suddenly stricken that maybe lying to someone like her would be a very, very bad idea. So, he told her the truth. "Oliver. My name's Oliver."

He attempted a smile. Not a flirty smile (Followers of a virgin goddess might not take too kindly to that kinda thing) but just his regular, friendly smile. "How about you? Or is 'Lieutenant' your birth name?"

She didn't smile back, but the I'm-going-to-stab-you-repeatedly look in her eyes was diminished somewhat, so that was an improvement. She glanced at her two fellow Hunters and just nodded at them. The one on the left shot Oliver one last warning glare before following the other into the clearing and began to set up their own camp. The Lieutenant turned back to Oliver and regarded him with a look he couldn't quite place. "I'm Thalia, daughter of Zeus."

His pendant hummed to life

 _Well, that explains the ozone smell._

 _That's your first response?_

 _I'm just saying what we're all thinking._

 _How can you even smell?_

 _I told you, I experience it through your body. Whatever you feel, I feel right along with you._

 _That still bugs me._

 _What?_

 _I mean, how does it work? Do you, like, constantly read my mind, or are you directly linked into my body and how or-_

Oliver blinked as he realized that the Lieutenant, Thalia, was looking at him with an eyebrow cocked, the barest iota of amusement in her eyes. "Sorry, what was that? Kind of spaced out there for a bit."

"I asked what that thing is," she was pointing to his pendant, "it's glowed and then you went all glazey-eyed. So, what is it?"

 _Oh, talk your way outta this one._

 _Shut it._

He remembered Prometheus' visit to his family lodge, the promise he made to the Titan. Even though it was just a few weeks ago if felt like years, an entire lifetime ago, a hundred. And the reality of what happened still hurt.

 _The Titan of forethought was a large man, with dark skin and black hair tied back. He wore a clean black suit with a bow tie around his neck, and he would've been handsome had it not been for the numerous scars that marred his face. He sat on the large couch in the massive living room of the lodge, the wall-sized window on the other side letting in waves of snow white sunlight. Oliver's father, Malachi, sat across from him, his eyes dark and serious, running a hand through his unruly brown beard. Oliver's mother, Veronica, was in the basement carefully packing duffel bags for them all. Oliver himself was standing in front of the window, arms crossed, looking out over the vast expanse of snow and forest and mountains, watching. Malachi leaned back in his chair, his tone neither accusatory or angry, simply serious. "I thought you told us this lodge was hidden from Olympus' sight, Prometheus."_

 _The old Titan simply sighed and rubbed the side of his face. "I thought it was, Malachi, truly. But I have seen it: A great beast only the Lord of the Underworld could call upon safely razing this lodge to the ground."_

 _Malachi frowned, his voice like that of an undertakers, grave and booming. "How is this possible? You have hidden the Keepers of the Fire throughout the millennia without issue. What's changed?"_

 _Prometheus only shook his head. "I am unsure. There is one possibility, but I never thought in all of my thousands of years that it would come to pass."_

 _At this Oliver's ear perked up, and he turned from his post at the window but said nothing. He's learned long ago that when Father and Prometheus talked like this, it was best to keep quiet. Malachi cocked an eyebrow. "Well, what is it my lord?"_

 _Prometheus just gave his friend a tired, sad smile. "Malachi, I've told you before and I'll tell you now, don't call me that. I am no one's lord, yours least of all."_

 _Malachi remained unperturbed, but he inclined his head at the remark. Prometheus licked his lips and sat forward, clasping his hands together. "Like all Titans, and Gods, I draw my power from how many believe. The more mortals, demigods, whomever, that join our cause the more powerful we become. It is the same way my Lord Brother," not even Prometheus, his own kin, would speak Kronos' name, "has reformed his body and consciousness, and the same way the Gods draw their power from civilization."_

 _Malachi worked out the rest. "And if less people join your cause, you would lose power."_

 _The Titan just nodded. "Yes. In the Coming Battle, should my Lord lose, all of us would be significantly weakened, yours truly included, and the barriers surrounding this lodge would falter and collapse. After that, the eyes of Olympus would be searching for any and all of our potential allies and associates."_

 _Malachi stiffened, but it was hardly noticeable. Fifteen years in the marines taught him to keep himself under control at all times, even when he knew that all the Gods of Olympus will most likely be hounding for their heads. "That would include us, wouldn't it?"_

 _Prometheus just nodded sadly. "Unfortunately, the King of Olympus is not fond of Titan sympathizers, and even less so of Mortals. His wrath will be severe."_

 _Malachi let out a long, tired sigh and looked at his son. Oliver just nodded, his eyes just as dark and serious as his father's, hands behind his back, feet spread perfectly apart. Despite himself, the military man smiled slightly underneath his beard and turned back to Prometheus. "We will leave first thing in the morning, my- Prometheus."_

 _The Titan smiled and stood up, his mortal friend copying the motion. "Very good. Now, I believe Veronica has something to ask?"_

 _Malachi frowned and was about to ask when the unmistakable Scottish brogue of his wife came up from the basement. "Mal, which bags should hold the M4 and the Remington?"_

 _The man chuckled and cocked an eyebrow at Prometheus, who gave him a small smile in return. "Titan of forethought, friend. Now go along, we both know what happens when you keep her waiting on a question."_

 _He just nodded and walked down the basement, his heavy boots sounding against the wooden staircase. Oliver turned back to the window and was greeted by the oddest sight he's seen in a while. A massive, blue skinned giant carrying a white flag, a women in a dress that looked like she belonged on Broadway and a teenager in armor, all trudging up the hill that the lodge sat on. He heard Prometheus clear his throat behind him and turned to regard the Titan with a slight smile. "You didn't tell us you were having friends over."_

 _Prometheus gave him a tight-lipped smile back, which immediately told Oliver something was wrong. He's known him for most of his life, and it was a little jarring to see the usually laid-back Titan so... Tense. The large man sighed and looked at Oliver, up and down, like he was just taking him in for the last time before settling on looking him dead in the eyes, a serious not entering his voice. "Oliver, do you trust me?"_

 _It wasn't even a question. "Of course. Why, what is it?"_

 _Prometheus sighed and shrunk his form until he was Oliver's height and set one of his large, scarred hands on his shoulder. "Then know this: While I will not be able to protect this lodge from the view of Olympus, I think I will have enough power to hide one of you."_

 _Oliver's eyes immediately widened. "What do you mean? Why not my father, mother?"_

 _Prometheus gave him a small smile, the pain evident in his eyes, and Oliver knew. That pain was the pain of someone that knew something awful, something so terrible and horrific that he couldn't tell anyone. It was the look of a doctor who just realized his favorite patient had terminal cancer. And when that look belong to someone who could see the future..._

 _Oliver's throat constricted, and he was only held up by the Titan's grip as the full realization hit him. Tears burned his eyes, and Prometheus allowed him a moment, just squeezing the mortal's shoulder gently. Oliver took several slow, deep breaths and looked back up at Prometheus, a hard gleam in his eyes. "What would you have me do?"_

 _The large man laughed softly and reached into his jacket. "You are your father's son, Oliver," he paused as he brought the item out, "that's why I know you can be trusted with It."_

 _Oliver's eyes widened as Prometheus pressed the pendant into the palm of his hand. The mortal opened his hand, trembling slightly, and looked at the Fire. The pendant was simple, but beautiful: A glass sphere about the size of a large marble attached to a gold chain. The inside of the sphere glowed a warm orange and hummed with ancient, powerful energy. Oliver looked up at Prometheus, who just nodded at the container. "Protect it, and it shall protect you. Just as I will, to the best of my ability."_

 _Oliver nodded numbly and looked back down at the pendant. As Prometheus turned to walk to the door, Oliver called out. "But, and I mean this with the highest respect, why can't you take it? I'm just a... mortal."_

 _Prometheus thought for a moment before looking back at Oliver, that small smile back on his face. "That, my friend, is exactly the reason you need to keep it."_

 _That was the last time Prometheus had come to visit._

 _It was also the last day Oliver Irons had a home._

-T-

Thalia was getting concerned now. It was below her, to worry about this intruder, but this male, Oliver, had been staring off into the forest for the better part of five minutes, despite her best efforts to snap him out of it. She was _this_ close to just slapping him back into reality when he suddenly blinked and turned back to her. She was a little shocked when she saw the hard, serious look in his eyes, making his brown eyes irises appear almost black. His voice matched the look, hard and low and cold enough to match the wind blowing through the forest. "It's my birthright."


	4. A Short Demonstration

-T- = Thalia

-O- = Oliver

-O-

Oliver blinked at the Lieutenant's expression and cleared his throat. "Sorry, just uh... Got a little serious there."

Thalia looked like she was going to say something else but a shout from one of her Hunters caught her attention. Oliver glanced in that direction and saw a trio of Hunters escorting the two kids that had gotten away. And he couldn't help but notice they were being much rougher with the boy. The Lieutenant gave him one last unreadable look before rising to her feet and walked over to the two, jerking a thumb over her shoulder at Oliver. One of the Hunters nodded and shifted her gaze to him, arrow nocked. Oliver sighed and rested his head against the log he was leaning against, drawing one knee up.

 _Nice job._

 _What?_

 _You got us captured by the Hunters of Artemis, who hate mortals_ _ **and**_ _males. That makes us double hated. Hate squared._

 _Look, that Lieutenant doesn't seem so bad. Maybe we can reason with her, figure something out._

 _Oh, you're just saying that because you think her eyes are pretty._

Oliver ignored the heat rising up his neck. _Hey, she's the only one who's had an actual conversation with me. The other ones just yell._

 _Nevertheless, we need to get out of here. It's only a matter of time before they decide to do something drastic._

Oliver just hummed in agreement and the inner conversation died down. And then, he realized something. _Hey, this is kinda your fault too._

His pendant hummed and the temperature seemed to rise around him. _What? You're the one who came in guns blazing._

 _Yeah, but can't you see the future or something? Why didn't you show me the Hunters coming out of the woods?_

His pendant seemed to sigh. _Look, I can only show you those visions when something is actively going to try and harm you. That hellhound? Came leaping in through the window to tear your throat out. The Hunters weren't even aware you were there until you started shooting and by then it was too late._

Oliver mulled it over, half-watching the Hunters tie up the boy and chat up the girl, putting on their 'nice' faces. _Can you show me a vision even when I'm not in danger?_

 _I suppose, but it wouldn't be good for you._

 _What do you mean?_

 _Well, when you use something in a way it's not supposed to be used, bad things happen. Right tool for the wrong job and all that. When you're in trouble and I show you a vision, it's no problem, that's how the power is meant to be used. If I show you a vision and you're not in danger... Well, bad things happen._

Oliver just gulped. When dealing with ancient, powerful forces the sentence 'bad things happen' can mean many, many things, none of them good. _Like what?_

His answer was interrupted when the Lieutenant snapped her fingers in front of his face. He flinched backwards and was about to scramble to his feet when he heard the unmistakable rasp of arrows being drawn. Oliver sighed and looked up at Thalia, eyebrow cocked. "You gotta good reason to interrupt my brooding?"

The girl just snorted at him, arms crossed. "You can't brood, your face is too nice looking."

Oliver's other eyebrow joined the first. "Thank you?"

The Lieutenant's pale skin flushed a little, her freckles suddenly more prominent. "No! No, I mean like you look- Oh, forget it."

Despite himself, the mortal chuckled a little, slight grin on his face. Which immediately melted away when she said, "Look, you did help us free the demigods, but you still intruded on our hunting grounds. So, since we," she gestured at the other Hunters who weren't with the two kids, all giving him looks like he was some kind of disease, "cannot decide what to do with you, we have agreed to let Lady Artemis herself pass judgement."

Immediately, alarm bells went off in Oliver's head, and his pendant's voice sounded, for once, panicked. _Oh, no no no no no, that cannot happen._

 _Why? I thought Prometheus is hiding me._

 _It's one thing to hide from the Gods' view from Olympus, it's another thing entirely to meet one in person! She'll smell the Titan on you from a mile off, and I don't know if you recall, but the Gods aren't really that fond of Titans!_

 _Maybe we can figure som-_

His pendant cut him off. _Oliver, you are a male, mortal Titan associate. We are screwed in more ways than I can fathom unless we do something drastic, right now._

 _Look, we don't have to start a fight. Maybe we can sneak away?_

 _What, like those two kids that lasted fifteen minutes?_

Oliver's head was silent for a long, long moment before the Fire spoke again, it's voice gentler. _Look, I know you don't like the violent solution, Oliver, but I don't see us getting out of here without... decisive action._

Oliver just sighed and stood up, resigned to his decision, ignoring the curious looks and questions the Hunters were all giving him.

 _Fine. Get ready to work your magic._

-T-

The intruder, Oliver, rose to his full height, standing heads and shoulders above most of the Hunters. He closed his eyes and began to breath, deeply, and Thalia swore that the pendant around his neck glowed more brightly. One of her Hunters, Phoebe, scowled and reached forward to yank it off of his neck. And then the strangest thing happened. Oliver, his eyes still closed, took a step forward, placed his other foot on top of hers and spun around, pushing the Hunter and sending her crashing to the forest floor, ankle twisted at an awkward angle. While the other Hunters looked at him in shock and fury, surrounding him and pulling out their weapons, Thalia ran what just happened through her mind's eye as she drew her own bow. It wasn't the speed at which he moved that shocked Thalia; He wasn't even that fast. No. It was his complete and utter self-assurance in his movement, even with his eyes closed. He wasn't afraid, not in the slightest. And it made Thalia's blood boil.

Oliver cocked his head, eyes still firmly shut and apparently unaware of the drawn bows aimed squarely at his chest from every direction, at the Lieutenant. "Please put the bows down; if you miss you'll only hurt yourselves."

Thalia glared at him. "We don't miss, boy."

But even as she gave the threat, a little shred of doubt was digging into the back of her mind. He really did sound concerned, and she found herself believing that this guy couldn't hurt a fly. But then she remembered the way he had killed the giants. That pinpoint, mechanical accuracy, the cold execution of the crippled one. They were monsters, yes, but still... Her gaze shifted to Phoebe, at the furious expression on her sister's face, and she steeled her nerves. Looking at him once to focus her aim on his shoulder, Thalia Grace let the arrow fly, her sisters following suit with every intention to turn this intruder, this boy, into a pincushion.

And then the second strangest thing happened. As soon as the arrows touched his skin, they simply... Passed through him, and kept flying. Thalia's eyes widened as two arrows actually hit two Hunters on opposite sides, and they both crumpled to the ground, groaning on holding their wounds. Oliver grimaced and looked at the two, even though his eyes were still shut. "I hate to be that guy but-"

"Oh, don't even say it," Thalia growled, throwing down her bow and drawing her two long hunting knives, the three remaining Hunters doing the same. But Thalia's mind was racing. If those arrows just passed right through, not even touching him, then that would mean... She just shook her head, not believing the conclusion she came to. Oliver didn't even move, but she caught his eyes open for a half second and dart to something not far from where they were standing. His bag, she realized.

The Hunter directly behind him, Lillian, took her opportunity and lunged forward, making to stab him in the lower back. But once again he moved with a dancer's grace, spinning around and using her momentum against her, throwing the much smaller Hunter bodily into a tree with the _crack_ of splitting wood. In the same movement he spun, lashing out his long leg and kicking another lunging Hunter straight in the jaw, knocking her sideways out of the air and sending her skirting to the side. Thalia chose this moment, when he was unbalanced, to launch her attack. She raised one of her knives into the sky, and the clouds began swirling above her, the winds rising to gales.

The two remaining Hunters backed up, going into cover behind trees as their Lieutenant got _that_ look on her face. Her eyes began glowing softly as electricity began to fill the air and run along her hair and between her fingers and with a war cry in ancient Greek, she brought her knife down, leveled straight to Oliver's chest. The lightning bolt came down from the sky with an impossibly loud crack and a sun-bright flash of blue, temporarily blinding everyone in the clearing. When Thalia blinked the white from out of her eyes, there was a small, smoking crater where Oliver had been standing, the plants all incinerated in a small area.

Thalia felt sick to her stomach for a second as her mind raced, searching the crater for anything even vaguely resembling human remains. _Did I just...?_

She got her answer a second later, when the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked came from behind her, a little to the right. She immediately tensed up and made to turn around, but Oliver clicked his tongue. "Ah, nope, keep looking right where you're looking, and call off your friends please. I'd rather no one else get's hurt here."

Thalia's eyes flicked to her two sisters creeping along the forest, trying to get around the assailant. Thalia, with self-restraint that she wasn't aware she was capable of, just gave them one short shake of her head. The Lieutenant turned her head as much as she dared in Oliver's direction and said with as much venom as she could muster, "What are you, exactly?"

She could hear the smile in his voice, making her blood boil even more than it already was, even if he sounded sincere. "I think you know the answer to that already, Thalia."

After a few tense, silent minutes the boy disappeared into the forest, taking his duffel bag with him. Thalia grimaced as she began to break out the ambrosia squares from her pack while the two remaining Hunters gathered their injured comrades onto sleeping bags. One of the girls that was uninjured, Aife, looked at her Lieutenant while they began setting up their camp properly. "Thalia... What did he mean?"

The daughter of Zeus looked at her, eyes almost glowing with power, venom in her voice. "It means we have a mortal to hunt."


	5. All Aboard

-T- = Thalia

-O- = Oliver

(A/N: Ten thousand apologies for missing an upload day. I have attempted to make this chapter longer and more interesting than it was originally to compensate. Once again, very sorry.)

-O-

Oliver didn't stop running until he couldn't even see the forest anymore, and when he did he just crumpled to the ground, breathing hard and staring at the perfect night sky. He was on a road about a mile away from the town, just a bare stretch of asphalt surrounded by miles of farmland, snow-peaked mountains flanking the valley. The Keeper wiped away a sheen of sweat from his forehead and neck with the back of his hand and focused on his breathing. Eventually he got himself under control and stood up, deep in thought.

 _So, avoid forests, keep to population centers. They can't do anything when mortals are around, right?_

The Fire hummed in acknowledgement. _Well, they can, but they're advised against it by the old horse._

 _What?_

 _Forget it. Just get to the nearest city and get a ride West. The Gods' influence get less powerful the farther we get from New York._

Oliver just sighed and slung his bag over his shoulder, looking to the horizon, where the faint glimmer of city lights lit up the sky.

 _More walking, huh?_

 _Think of it like the Odyssey. One man on a journey across hostile territory, surviving the worst the Underworld can throw at him at every turn._

 _Odysseus had a boat, a full crew of men and help from, like, half a dozen different gods._

 _Shut it, my point stands. And look behind you, help has arrived._

Oliver blinked and glanced over his shoulder. Sure enough, a red, rickety pickup truck came trundling along the road, left headlight cracked and sputtering out yellowish light. Oliver gave a small smile and a wave, and the old car came to a stop next to him. The driver was an old man, with intelligent brown eyes, a bald head and a neat silver beard. Next to him, Oliver could just make out the sleek form of a husky, head cocked curiously at the new person. The older man cocked an eyebrow at him and Oliver gestured at the city in the distance. "Hey, so sorry to bother you, but could you just take me to town? I can pay you, if that's necessary."

The old man just nodded and looked to the city on the horizon and back to the hitchhiker, seemingly sizing up the distance from that one glance, before speaking in an old, powerful voice. "Hm... 'bout thirty bucks oughta cover it."

Oliver smiled gratefully. "Thank you so much, sir. On arrival?"

The old man just made a rumbling noise of acknowledgment in the back of his throat and Oliver climbed into the back of the pickup, rapping a hand on the glass when he was ready. The truck lurched back into movement, and Oliver had to press his feet against the rim of the bed to keep from tumbling out. He let out a sigh as the tension in his muscles slowly went away, head resting against the cold metal of the truck. The twenty-year-old reached into his jacket and pulled out a messily rolled cigarette, grimacing at the rushed job. He remembered the day he turned eighteen, when his father taught him how to roll a smoke, and felt a little ashamed at his own shoddy work.

After he smoked, the nicotine calming his nerves, he flicked the stub out onto the road and settled his head against his duffel bag. In fifteen minutes, he slipped into a shallow, dreamless sleep, fingers wrapped tightly around the handle of the handgun in his shoulder holster.

-T-

After a few minutes of discussion and healing of the injured, Thalia decided to split up the Hunters she had at her command, seven in all, including herself. She left a group of four, lead by Phoebe, to look after the two half-bloods and take them to camp, while she took Lillian and Atalanta to hunt down the mortal, Oliver. When Phoebe made to protest, Thalia just got _that_ look in her eyes, the one that made anyone's words die in their throats. She felt a twinge of guilt, and reconciled by telling her that'd she'll be at camp in a few days. There was no way one mortal can escape three of the Hunters finest, Thalia told her, giving her a farewell hug before turning and disappearing into the woods, sisters flanking the Lieutenant.

They had followed his trail with ease through the forest. He left a clear trail through the forest in his haste to escape, obviously afraid for his life. But something was bothering the daughter of Zeus, a small little niggling in the back of her mind: Why did he run? He was mortal, so none of the weapons that the Hunters had on them could hurt him, and he had a gun pointed squarely at Thalia's back. So why didn't he pull the trigger? That annoying little voice in her head (that she really needed to find out how to shut up) peeped up:

 _Because he's not that bad!_

 _He knocked out three of Lillian's teeth and almost broke Phoebe's ankle. Shut it._

 _But-_

 _SHUT IT._

Still, the doubt remained as the trio trudged through the temperate forest, silent as owls. She attempted to discover a logical solution to her conundrum as they came upon a road, surrounded by miles of farmland. On one end of the horizon was just a blanket of dark skies and stars. And on the other horizon was the shine of small city lights. Something intruded on the clean forest air, a noxious stench that made Thalia stop and frown and sniff the air. The Lieutenant followed her nose to the side of the road, where the still-smoldering stub of a cigarette lay. She picked it up and shifted her eyes a few miles down the road, catching a red form against the dark road. A truck. The three Hunters just looked at each other and, with a gesture from Thalia, shot off like wolves with the scent, the trail fresh.

The hunt was on.

-O-

Oliver clambered out of the truck, thanked and paid the old man for the ride and took in his surroundings, the truck rumbling down the road and disappearing around the corner. Rutland, Vermont was small for a city, but it nice, with clean streets and fine brick buildings lining the roads on both sides. While there were no real skyscrapers, there were quite a few that rivaled his family's four story lodge. He felt a twinge of pain at the memory of his home, but fought it down, shouldered his duffel bag and started walking down the sidewalk. There weren't many people out, the moon was just beginning to set, so Oliver didn't have to worry about mortals giving him weird looks. Unfortunately, that meant that he would need to give extra glances over his shoulder for that girl, Thalia, and her posse of scary archer girls. Oliver inhaled the familiar chill of Vermont air and breathed out, thinking about his best way out of the situation he had found himself.

 _Head West, you said?_

 _Yeah._

 _I don't suppose we could just catch a plane to L.A. and be done with it?_

The Fire's voice seemed to grow shrill as the pendant around his neck heated up considerably. _NO! The sky is Zeus' domain, he knows all that happens. We'd be shot down before we could cross two states._

 _Zeus wouldn't shoot down a plane full of mortals just for me._

The Fire was silent for a long time. _Just find the train station, avoid the girl scouts and we'll be fine._

 _...Alright._

He wandered the city streets for a while, just taking in the sights. Oliver only went to the small town near his lodge, Stowe, once every month with his father to buy food and other provisions. While Rutland wasn't the biggest city in America, not by any stretch of the imagination, it was still the most buildings Oliver had ever seen, outside of movies and pictures and the like. He passed numerous stores and small restaurants, all locked and closed and dark, his footsteps crunching against the soft snow on the ground, echoing through the broad empty area. But something felt... wrong. Oliver couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was something in the air that made his skin crawl. Nonetheless, he needed to get out of Vermont before those Hunters could catch up or, even worse, call their mistress. Oliver had heard stories of what Artemis did to mortal males that interfere with her hunt, and he was not very keen on turning into a jackalope. So, flicking the safety on his USP off, he began to follow the road signs towards Rutland Station.

After a few minutes of walking through the chilled winter air, hands shoved firmly in his pockets, jacket collar upturned to warm his neck he came upon the station. It was a small two story building, with a slanted roof and three large windows in the front going from the ground all the way up, giving a clear view into the station. It was empty, with only a few lights on and a train parked on the tracks, laying dormant. Oliver opened the door, blasted by the warm air of the ac, and stepped inside, his footsteps echoing in the wide open space. As he thought the station was empty, with rows of empty benches and chairs filling the lobby, and thick wooden pillars supported the ceiling. He walked over to the empty receptionist's little kiosk set his duffel bag against the wall and, seeing nothing else to do, rang the little bell, it's soft ding ringing out like a gunshot in the absolute silence of the station.

Nothing.

He rang it again, his free hand absentmindedly sliding into his jacket and gripping the handgun in his shoulder holster. After a few minutes of wait the small door behind the desk opened, and a man stepped through, shutting it quickly behind him. He was a tall man, taller than Oliver, with short gray hair and a fine suit. He was clean shaven and appeared to an utterly unremarkable man until Oliver focused on his eyes. They were mismatched, one was blue and the other was brown. Thorn, his name tag said. His arms folded behind his back, the man seemed to curl his lips as he spoke, the small grill in the window distorting his voice slightly, "Yes, how can I help you?"

His accent was strange. French, maybe? Canadians come down to Vermont sometimes, and, depending on the province, spoke french all the time. Still, this didn't sound like any Canadian Oliver had ever met. He cleared his throat and pointed his free thumb at the dormant train, his other hand still in his jacket, "Yeah, do you know when that train leaves?"

The man's face contorted into what might've been considered a smile, a glint entered his eye and Oliver was suddenly for grateful for the pane of glass in between them, "Ah, I'm afraid train 3F is experiencing some mechanical troubles. It will be some time before it is ready for departure."

Oliver sighed and nodded in thanks, but just as he was about to turn away he noticed something that chilled his blood. At the corner of Thorn's mouth, as if he had just eaten, was a small red stain that was most definitely _not_ ketchup. His mind raced as the man, the monster, kept that plastered on smile. Oliver remembered learning somewhere that monsters could smell half-bloods, but didn't think anything of mortals. He prayed to whatever God was the patron of deceiving one's elders and gave the man the most innocent smile he could muster and pointed to the corner of his own mouth. Thorn's curiously colored eyes widened slightly as his hand flew up and wiped away the blood. There was a short, awkward pause as the two men looked at each other before Oliver shouldered his bag and walked over to one of the benches and slumped down, careful to keep the monster in his sight.

His mind raced as he did his best to look casual in the seat, idly rolling a cigarette with slightly shaky fingers. Now that he noticed the blood on Thorn's mouth he seemed to be hyper aware of the numerous, almost invisible stains all around the station that he had initially dismissed as water or just tricks of the light. But now...

His eyes flicked up to the monster as he carefully set his newly rolled cigarette in his bag and almost had a heart attack. Thorn was staring right at him, his mismatched eyes filled with animal curiosity and something that was uncomfortably close to hunger. Oliver avoided the monster's gaze, deciding instead to scan the train, attempting to look into the windows. Every single car, at least the ones Oliver could see into, was empty. The lights were on, but there wasn't a single living soul in sight. What he did see, however, was the occasional slash of crimson against the clean white walls of the train wallpaper. Oliver felt bile rise and burn the back of his throat. This bastard _ate_ an entire train's worth of innocent people, maybe an entire damn town.

He dies.

The Fire seemed to agree, his pendant flaring to life with a hateful red light. Oliver could see Thorn's eyes widen slightly at the sudden light in the otherwise perfect darkness of the station. A few seconds passed, and Oliver's vision suddenly shifted. Once again, everything appeared to be made of orange flames, with Thorn burning a hateful red. Something red flicked behind the man's body and a small, incredibly sharp projectile came whistling through the air. The mortal dove to the side, ripping his handgun out of his jacket as the spike slammed into the wall where Oliver's head was a split second previously. Half a dozen more spikes flew through the air, all of which Oliver dodged with the smallest margin of error as he ducked behind one of the pillars supporting the ceiling. The sound of glass shattering filled the station as Thorn leaped through the receptionist's stand, a growl escaping his throat, "I don't know who you are, mortal, but the mistress will surely reward me for bringing her your necklace."

 _Mistress?_

Oliver peeked around the corner after a moment of silence and was met with a sight that almost made him want to claw his own eyes out. Thorn's body was changing. His muscles rippled beneath his suit, his legs and arms began growing larger with the snapping of bones. His body grew larger, his suit tearing and falling to the floor around his now massive arms and legs. No. Just legs. Thorn's body had changed from a man's to a lion's, though his face remained the same, and Oliver could see now he had a tail, a long nasty looking scorpion tail tipped with barbs. Manticore. Oliver saw his tail flick forward, launching a large group of fiery spikes directly at him and was forced to get into cover. A half second later they slammed into the wooden pillar and Oliver seriously worried that the pole might not be able to hold back the Manticore for much longer. He waited for a break in the action before bending around his cover, bringing his handgun up and squeezing off three shots.

Thorn, with reflexes that were surprising for a beast of his size, quickly ducked his head out of the way as the .45 rounds slammed into his shoulder or ricocheted off of the thick bone with a ping. In that same movement he flicked his tail again, sending another baker's dozen of those awful spines in Oliver's direction. And, despite his best efforts to avoid them, one caught him in the shoulder just as he got back into cover.

Even though it was only a grazing hit the pain was instantaneous and explosive, almost causing him to drop his handgun all together. His shoulder began to burn, and Oliver recognized the sensation immediately. Poison. As if triggered by the simple thought of the word, the scar on his chest seemed to burn in tandem with the cut on his shoulder. He got control of his breathing and switched his USP into his left hand as the Manticore's shuffling steps approached Oliver's position. The mortal sighed, and his gaze lifted to one of the benches set against the far wall. Laying down as if asleep was a small stuffed bear, obviously a child's. It was splattered with blood.

Fury filled his veins, a burning adrenaline high that washed away all the pain in his body. He let out a shuddering breath, rose to his full height and held up his handgun, eyes locked on that little stuffed bear. Steeling his nerves, Oliver stepped around the pillar and brought up his USP, aimed squarely at the Manticore's head. Thorn's mismatched human eyes seemed to light up as his face split into an awful grin, his muscles rippling under his fur, the bullet holes in his shoulder bleeding. If he noticed, he didn't make any sign as his tail writhed to life like it had a mind of it's own.

But, just as the two were about to exchange fire and possibly kill each other, three silver arrows suddenly sprouted from Thorn's neck like quills. The monster roared with indignation with such power that it felt as though the station was about to collapse in on itself as both of them whirled on the new arrivals. Oliver's face broke out into a relived smile, "You have a fantastic sense of timing, Thalia."

The Lieutenant didn't even look at him, her attention focused squarely on the Manticore, arrow drawn back. Her two Hunters flanked her, also at the ready to loose another volley. Thalia glared at the Manticore and spoke with venom that surprised Oliver, "Dr. Thorn. I figured it was only a matter of time before you reformed."

Thorn growled at the Hunter, his human face contorting into a sneer as his tail swished from side to side, "Daughter of Zeus. I see you've decided to join those vile Hunters."

The two began exchanging words, but Oliver wasn't really paying attention. His eyes flicked from the Hunters and the Manticore, still focused on each other, and then to the empty train, ready for departure. The Fire spoke, humming softly at his neck.

 _Go, while their distracted._

 _But what about the Hunters?_

 _They're big girls, they can handle themselves. Now go!_

With a reluctant glance backwards, Oliver picked up his duffel bag, slung it over his good shoulder and broke out into a flat sprint for the train. He heard cries and roars of alarm (respectively) from the two groups as he gained ground and an infuriated, "Coward!" from Thalia. He heard the THWACK of arrows hitting their target and the roars of pain from the Manticore. He leaped into the first train car he saw, slammed the door shut behind him and ran up the aisle, ignoring the thick stench of blood the best he could. Oliver damn near kicked down the door to the cramped compartment at the front of the train, and just yanked the biggest lever in front of him. Miraculously the train lurched to life, the engine roaring and the wheels screeching against the track. Then he made the mistake of looking out the window.

Thorn looked like he had a dozen silver quills sticking out of his neck and sides, bleeding profusely, face contorted in pained rage. But what made Oliver's heart skip a beat was the sight of a Hunter, the one he had thrown into a tree, laying in the middle of the station, bow at her side, a dozen of the Manticore's spikes protruding from her back.

The train began puling out of the station, but Oliver wasn't done with that son of a bitch yet. Faster than he thought possible he brought his M14 out from his duffel bag. He shattered the nearest window with the butt of his rifle, the cold wind now whipping past the train as it gained speed, and shoved the barrel through the opening. Oliver got his breathing under control, shifted the stock to his good shoulder and just aimed in the Manticore's general direction. Now was not the time for pinpoint precision, the train was almost out of the station, and Oliver could actually see the wider landscape around Rutland. He breathed in, held it, and opened fire on the monster, emptying the whole clip in seconds, the sharp cracks and lighting flashes turning the dark station into a thunderstorm. And then, he was free.

The station lobby was gone, replaced by miles of wide, flat plains, the mountains and forests in the distance. Oliver slumped numbly into a nearby chair after a few seconds, his rifle in his lap, the soft rumble of the train engine his only company. He groaned and stood up, shuffling down to the dining car, duffel bag held loosely in one hand. He walked around the bar and grabbed the small first aid kit behind the counter as the burning in his shoulder became more pronounced. First aid kit in hand, Oliver strolled up to the front cars, where the private cabins were, and walked through the door. It was a nice room, with a comfy looking bed against one wall, a desk and chair on another and a window overlooking the vast landscape. Oliver shut the door behind him, locked, unlocked and locked it again and fell onto the bed, dropping his duffel bag on the desk as he walked past it. He pulled his shirt off, brought the first aid kit up into his lap and began fixing his shoulder. It was when he set the last bandage over the cut that his face split into a small, rueful grin as he realized something.

He wasn't even out of Vermont yet.

He stood up, brought his cigarette from out of his bag and began smoking as he looked out over the landscape rushing past him, and the moon settling over the horizon, it's soft silvery light yielding to the powerful yellow rays of the sun.

 _Only three thousand miles to go._

 **-End of Act One-**


	6. The City That Doesn't Sleep

-O-

The train ride was a bit of a blur. Oliver vaguely remembered waking up from his fitful slumber, cleaning his guns and rolling a new cigarette before falling back to the bed again. Understandable, really; the last time he got a good night's sleep was at least two weeks previously, when he rented a top floor hotel room. But then half a dozen harpies crashed through the window and he had to run, leaping down a stairwell to escape and almost breaking his legs in the attempt. He woke up, for good this time, as his apprehended transport trundled along the tracks, thick forest as far as he could see. His wounds were healed but they still throbbed numbly, especially his shoulder where the dull burn of the Manticore poison remained, and he still slightly favored his left leg. But he could run the entire length of the train without stumbling and shoot his rifle with his dominate shoulder, so he was ready to get back on the road.

Oliver managed, with a bit of advice from the Fire, to steer the train onto the tracks in the more rural areas of New York, what with him being the only person on board a train with blood stains covering half of the cars. He felt just avoiding human contact all together was his best shot at avoiding conflict while gaining land. A look at the map of the routes in the conductor's cabin told him that this line would bring him as far as Maryland, and from there he could catch another further west. But, and this was a _very_ big but, he would have to pass through New York City, and he couldn't see another track he could get off on that would lead him around the massive city. He was in the conductor's chair, feet up on the console, just watching the New York skyline approach. It was a bit breathtaking, as one could imagine. Oliver's seen it in television and movies, everyone has, but it was an entirely different beast to actually _see_ it, right there.

He tore his eyes from the monolithic buildings and walked back to his cabin, packing his duffel bag as calmly as he could. Oliver was hoping he could just ride clean through the city, but he had that anxious knot in his stomach that made him look twice at every shadow. As the sounds of the city loomed closer, Oliver closed and covered every window he could before sitting in his cabin, M14 leveled at the door. A voice suddenly appeared to his right, near the desk, "You are a very interesting young man, you know?"

Oliver nearly jumped out of his skin and swung his rifle instinctively, only for it to be stopped like he had hit a tree. He focused on his unexpected guest, and his heart dropped. He was a middle-aged man, with salt-and-pepper hair and an athletic build, with nylon running shorts and a t-shirt that said 'New York City Marathon: 1966'. But it wasn't what he was wearing that made Oliver stop cold (although the design on the shirt _was_ atrocious). No. It was the fact that Oliver's bayonet, made of pure celestial bronze, was ever so slightly embedded into the stranger's palm.

And he was bleeding a thick, golden blood that Oliver sometimes saw Prometheus bleed.

Ichor. Blood of Immortals.

Curiously, Oliver's first reaction was to say, "Aw, hell."

The god cocked a curious eyebrow at the mortal as Oliver shifted his rifle back into his lap, "Well, that's the first time I've been cursed at when I appear."

Oliver felt heat rise up his neck, "Oh no, it's not you," he said, "I just... I thought I'd make it farther."

The god nodded and leaned farther back in the chair, flexing his hand, "Well, do you know who I am, kid?"

Oliver gave one look at the 'New York Marathon' shirt and he just knew, "You're Hermes, God of th- travelers, and people who use the roads."

Hermes gave the mortal a sly grin, obviously catching the slight slip of the tongue but choosing not to address it, "Exactly. I sensed you the moment you took a step on this train." He brought his foot down as if to drive his point home.

Despite the cold fear clutching at his stomach Oliver frowned at the god, "You sensed one mortal getting on a train in Vermont?"

Hermes' smile faltered a little, that faint amusement in his eyes dying down, "Kind of. See, since the end of the war, Dad's been having me monitor all the ways in and out of Manhattan, to keep an eye out for anything magical or the like," he stopped to point at the pendant around Oliver's neck, "I sensed _that,_ not you."

The Fire hummed at Oliver's neck, glowing a bit uncomfortably.

 _I have a name, you know._

 _Shut it._

 _I do!_

 _You are the Fire given to mankind by the titan Prometheus in defiance of Zeus. What kind of name could you possibly have?_

 _Marvin._

 _...Marvin?_

 _Yes. Marvin._

 _Why in the sam hell did you name yourself Marvin?_

 _Have you ever read 'Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy'?_

 _What?_

 _You know, the greatest piece of literature humans have ever produced. A good use of ink, I'll tell you that for free._

 _How'd you even- okay, never mind, I don't care._

Oliver looked at the messenger god, nervously cracking his fingers by pressing his thumb over the knuckles. All Hermes knew was that his pendant was magic. Maybe, just maybe... "Well, Lord Hermes, I admit this is magic but I don't know why-"

Every trace of humor in Hermes' eyes was wiped away in an instant, and his voice was suddenly deadly serious as he cut him off, "Do not attempt to play me for a fool, Oliver Irons. I know who your masters are, the only question is which one you serve directly."

The way Hermes said his name made Oliver shudder internally, a cold fist of fear gripping his spine, fully aware that he was about to be turned to ash. Or sand. Or whatever Hermes felt like, really. He focused on the floor, unwilling to meet the god's gaze, "Prometheus, sir. I serve Prometheus."

Oliver swore he could _hear_ the messenger god blink as his tone shifted rather abruptly, "Oh... really?"

Oliver nodded vigorously, "Yeah, I've known him since I was a kid. He told me to protect this," he pointed at his pendant, which glowed slightly as he was recognized, "and nothing else. I don't want to hurt anyone, I swear."

Hermes lifted both his palms into the air, that little smile back on his lips, "Alright, I believe you kid, calm down."

Oliver flushed and set his hands back in his lap as a thoughtful expression crossed the god's face, "He was always one of the more mild titans, what with the whole giving fire to man thing..." he said, crossing his arms and deciding whether or not to incinerate the mortal.

Oliver held his breath. A long, long minute passed as Hermes made up his mind. The god leaned forward, that hint of slyness in his eyes that helped put Oliver at ease, if only slightly, "Okay. I've decided, perhaps against my better judgement, to let you go."

Oliver waited, not daring to say the wrong thing, only breathing out a single word, "But?"

Hermes' smirked slightly, "But, I'll need you to do something for me. Pretty normal exchange, I think." He said, leaning back again in the chair.

Oliver let out a relieved sigh he was fully aware he was holding in, "Alright. What do you need me to do?"

Hermes snapped his fingers and a yellow paper package, exactly like the ones you would get in the mail, appeared in Oliver's lap. He tested the weight, but it felt like normal package to him. He cocked an eyebrow at the god, but he only gave him another smile, "Deliver that to my sons, Travis and Conner Stoll."

Oliver's eyebrow rose further up his face, "That's all?" he asked, not really believing that such a simple task would let him go.

But Hermes just nodded, "That's it. Oh, wait," he cleared his throat and spoke that he was making some kind of declaration, "I, the god Hermes, give you permission to enter."

Thunder rumbled across the clear sky, and Oliver coughed, "Thanks?"

Hermes nodded, either oblivious are uncaring to the questioning tone, "You're welcome. Here's the address for the camp," he said, handing him what looked like a businesses card. with really fancy black lettering that said 'Camp Half-Blood, Half-Blood Hill, Farm Road 3.141. Long Island, New York 11954'. Oliver looked at Hermes, hesitating with his next words, "Lord Hermes, with all due respect, why can't you deliver this?" he questioned. Surely the god of messengers could do this with a snap of his fingers?

Apparently not, as a pained expression crossed the god's face, "Believe me, I want to do nothing more than bring them that in person. But... look, ever since the war ended, I have been a very busy god. Messages to carry between the gods and their kids, packages to deliver, receipts to fill out. Do you know how long it takes to fill out a form for a thermos full of wind? Longer than you think!" as he spoke he got more agitated, to the point that the room began to get considerably warmer.

As Oliver accepted his existence as a small pile of ash outside of New York, Hermes calmed himself with a few deep breaths and gave the mortal an almost-sheepish smile, "Sorry about that," he stood up and stretched his legs, "anyway, good luck. If you deliver that, and no one dies, then I will provide you with more... Suitable transportation."

Before Oliver could ask what he meant by that, he was suddenly aware of the screeching of the train's brakes. And of the blood stained cars that he had neglected to clean. But Hermes seemed to read his mind, snapping his fingers and Oliver felt something rush past him like a brisk wind. He blinked and had to focus to see the god directly in front of him. The Fi- Marvin spoke up in Oliver's mind.

 _Clever._

 _What?_

 _He's coated the train in Mist, making it look like it's out of order, and you to look like a staff member of the station._

Oliver made to thank the god, but he was already gone, leaving only the faint hissing of snakes in the air. He sighed and stood up, clenching and unclenching his fist, trying not to shake, and slung his duffel bag onto his shoulder. Marvin was right. When Oliver tried to look at his arm his jacket shimmered and changed into the sleeve of a long, deep blue jumpsuit, like those of a maintenance man. He slowly began to walk down the train cars, and he heard the sounds of the station just outside.

 _Think Hermes'll keep his promise?_

 _I have no idea._

Oliver just sighed and, after checking to make sure he didn't have any blood on him, opened the door and stepped out into Grand Central Station. The area where the trains stopped weren't all that different from a normal train station. There were clean concrete walls and floors, and tracks for trains to park on in rows going in line all the way down to a far wall. A ramp to his right lead further up into the terminal proper. Thankfully, there weren't _too_ peoplemany in front of him, but there was still a sizable group looking at him with a mixture of curiosity and anger. He cleared his throat, held up his palm and did his best to mask his Vermont accent, "Sorry, out of order."

The man in front of him, a big middle-aged guy in a suit, scowled and checked his watch. His voice sounded exactly like Oliver thought it would, "What'dya mean it's out of order?"

Oliver just shrugged, "It means exactly what you think it means. Sorry for the inconvenience," and began walking up towards the ramp, just keeping his eyes down and avoiding conflict as the man sputtered with rage, face beet red. He heard little boy tug at his mother's hand as he walked past them, "Mommy, why's there ketchup all over the inside of the train?"

Oliver tried not to vomit and increased his pace, almost running up the stairs as his clothes shifted back to normal. The wind was almost knocked out of his breath as he took the last step up and saw Grand Central Station in all of it's glory. Once again, just like the skyline, Oliver couldn't quite processing what he was looking at for a few seconds. His whole lodge, along with a good chunk of the surrounding wilderness, could fit in the massive space in front of him. Thick, square shaped concrete pillars supported the colossal arched ceiling, coated in a fresh layer of dollar-green paint. Three windows the size of swimming pools were set in the far wall, letting in the rays of the now-setting sun to flood into the station. Oliver shook of his wonder and looked down at the address Hermes gave him, stuffing the package in his duffel bag.

 _So, do we just... get a cab?_

 _I suppose. Unless you wanna go sight seeing._

Oliver just snorted and walked up the vast stairs that lead up to street level. After a few minutes of standing on a broad, fairly packed sidewalk as the sun slowly set he finally manged to snag a cab. He slid into the cigarette-smelling leather back seat and shut the door, locking, unlocking and locking it behind him. The driver raised a bushy eyebrow but said nothing as he ashed his cigar in the small tray on the dash, "Where to?" He asked, his accent almost as thick as his mustache.

Oliver held out the card, which the driver gave one look at and frowned, "That's the middle of nowhere, kid. You sure?"

"Seven hundred dollars says I'm sure."

The driver's eyebrows shot up, "I'm gonna need some kinda card or something here," he said, but Oliver could see he was already thinking about what to do with his day off.

Oliver pulled out Prometheus' card and the driver held it like it was solid gold, swiping it in his machine. After a few seconds of the machine sputtering and the numbers flashing until it eventually settled on a large green infinity symbol. The cigar fell from the driver's mouth as he looked back at the young passenger, "Anywhere you wanna stop, uh, sir?"

Oliver just gave the driver a slight smile, "No, thanks though," he paused and then said, "tell you what: get me there within the hour, I'll double the pay."

Probably shouldn't have said that.

The speedometer never dropped below sixty as they rode through the city that doesn't sleep. 

Oliver stepped out of the cab with the car's number and a promise that 'He'll always have a ride in New York', before the cab peeled out of the forest, the sound of it's engine slowly fading away. He looked around the thick forest for this camp, but all he saw was a sign with the words 'CHB' painted in orange, and nothing else. Oliver sighed, hefted his duffel bag, package inside, and began to trudge through the forest, the very fresh memories first and for most in this mind.

 _A forest. It's always a forest._

Thankfully, this forest was considerably safer than the one he had been in previously, and all he encountered on his trek was a small, harmless rabbit.

Marvin spoke up.

 _Quick, it might be dangerous!_

 _Shut up, Marvin._

He eventually came upon a hill, with a massive pine tree sitting atop it, with something dark and vaguely serpentine coiled around it. Oliver slipped his hand into his jacket, wrapping around his fingers around the cool plastic of the USP, and began to climb. When he got about ten feet from the tree the shape suddenly sprung to life, hateful yellow eyes burning in the night, razor sharp teeth glinting. It looked like a big snake, with Oliver held up his hands in the universal show of submission, and the beast watched him for a few, tense seconds before setting it's head back down. Oliver gave the dragon a wide berth, those eyes still following his every motion as the stranger descended into the valley. He couldn't see much: A large farmhouse, a few dark buildings, a large sparkling lake and another goddamn forest, but no details. He decided to walk to the big house in the middle of the valley, maybe figure out where the brothers were. But as he took a step onto the broad wooden porch a voice suddenly spoke up to his right, "Whatcha doin'?"

Oliver jumped and whipped around, almost tearing his gun out of the holster until his eyes landed on the speaker. It was a guy, a few years younger than himself, with oily black hair, pale skin and black clothing. His dark eyes focused on Oliver like an owl, and the ghost a smile crossed his lips as Oliver said, "Who're you?"

The guy stood up, resting his hand on the hilt of a sword Oliver didn't initially see, "I'm Nico," Nico squinted slightly at the newcomer, his eyes suspicious, "and you shouldn't be here."


	7. Orientation

(Okay, I am a man of the people and the people have spoken: New, longer chapters will now be uploaded every other day.)

-O-

Oliver's mind raced. He had to admit: this looked bad. A strange man with a duffel bag creeping through one's home at night was never a welcome sight. Especially not to those who are constantly being hunted by all manner of monsters every hour of every day. Nonetheless, he tried to keep it cool off, ignoring the way the guy, Nico, always kept his hand on his sword. He lifted both of his palms in the universal gesture of peace and said, "Look, I'm just hear to deliver a package, to Conner and Travis Stoll. Do you know where I can find them?"

Nico's eyebrows lifted, the suspicion in his eyes diminished somewhat at the direct naming of two campers, but his hand didn't stray from his sword hilt, "Who's the package from?"

"Hermes."

Nico blinked, surprise and curiosity temporarily overtaking his suspicion, "Really?" he asked, eyebrow cocked, "Can you prove it?"

Oliver nodded and, slowly, pulled out both the package and the card Hermes gave him and held them out to Nico, who snatched them out of Oliver's hand. He ran his dark eyes over the tight handed lettering, eventually coming upon Hermes' signature at the bottom of the receipt. He looked up at the newcomer once before tossing him back both items, jerking his head towards the door, "C'mon, you'll need to talk to Chiron."

Oliver frowned and stuffed them in his jacket, "Who?"

Nico just gave him a tiny, mildly unsettling smile as he turned and made towards the door, "You'll see."

The main room of the house was nice, with a crackling fireplace on one wall and a large table against another. Strangely, above the fireplace was what looked like a stuffed leopard head, and even stranger still it looked like it's eyes were closed. A door at the other end of the room lead out into a hallway, and Nico gestured at the table as he walked towards it, "Take a seat, I'll go get him."

Oliver complied, setting his bag down on the ground next to the table, facing the door Nico had entered. His eyes wandered the room idly, subconsciously marking all of the windows in the room in case he needed to make a hasty retreat. Marvin hummed, the pendant glowing softly.

 _Don't worry about it, Chiron won't kill you._

Oliver was comforted somewhat, but he still pressed the balls of his feet on the ground, knees bent, ready to sprint to the nearest escape. He tried to remember who Chiron was in mythology. He was a teacher, trained a bunch of different heroes, including godsdamn Achilles, and was Kronos' son. He was a find archer and was all around a pretty good guy. There was something else, though, something he was forgetting, nagging in the back of his mind. And then he heard the sound of hooves on wood, and he suddenly remembered something Marvin said, back in Rutland.

 _The old horse._

The door opened, and a Nico stepped out, followed by a huge form that clop-clopped into the room. Chiron's top half was a middle aged man with a bushy brown beard, thinning hair and deep brown eyes, while his bottom half was a fine brown stallion. He gave Oliver a slight smile as he came into view, nodding at Nico, "Thank you Mr. di Angelo, but I believe I can handle it from here."

Nico gave Oliver one last look, before stepping back into a shadow and just... disappearing. Oliver blinked and turned back to Chiron, who just gave him an amused smile as he pulled out a small clipboard Oliver didn't see before, "Child of Hades," he said, as if that explained everything.

Oliver just nodded slowly as he reached into his bag and pulled out Hermes' package, "Right, well I'm just here to drop this off so-"

Chiron just raised his hand, and Oliver stopped talking immediately, all of a sudden feeling like a rambunctious student, "All in due time, I promise. But first there are certain protocols we must adhere to," he gestured with his clipboard, "so please, relax, answer truthfully and you will be on your way in no time."

Oliver sighed and leaned back in his chair, drumming his fingers against the yellow paper of the package. He did not want to be here. The more questions that are asked, the more he has to answer, and the more he has to answer the more he gives away. It's only a matter of time before someone figures out who he works for, and he doubted that a camp full of magical beings who just got done fighting a war against the titans would be very forgiving towards a mortal who worked for them. Nonetheless, he gave Chiron a small nod for him to continue, and the centaur lifted a pen and pressed it against the paper, "First name?"

Oliver thought about using a fake name, but one look into Chiron's old, knowing eyes told him that it would be futile. So, as he was advised, he told the truth, "Oliver."

The scribbling sound of pen on paper was the only sound in the room.

"Last name?"

"Irons."

Scribble scribble.

"Age?"

Oliver thought about it for a few seconds. "What month is it?"

Chiron answered immediately. "September."

"Then I'm twenty and some change."

The old trainer cocked an eyebrow, "Really? How long have you been alone?"

Oliver was a little confused at the reaction but gave him the best answer he had, "About a month? Month and a half?" he said, shrugging, "Not sure, though. Haven't really had the chance to keep track of the date."

Chiron nodded, though there was an odd look in his eye that Oliver couldn't place.

Scribble scribble.

Then he asked a question that made everything very interesting, very fast, "Godly parent?"

 _Oh, shit._

 _Let me think, Marvin._

If he answered truthfully, he wasn't sure how Chiron would react, but if he lied he was almost positive it wouldn't end well.

 _Either you tell the truth, he's fine with it, you tell the truth and he isn't fine with it, or you lie and DEFINITELY piss him off. You've got a fifty-fifty chance of making this out alive if you tell the truth._

 _I thought you said Chiron won't kill me?_

 _I'm not talking about Chiron, I'm talking about all the super-powered children. And trust me when I saw they do not have as much self restraint as the good stallion here._

 _Point taken._

He looked up at Chiron, decision made, took a breath and said, "Actually sir, I'm a, uh, mortal."

To his surprise, Chiron just sighed as though he's heard that answer a thousand times before, "Tell me something, then: do monsters attack you seemingly out of nowhere?"

Oliver shifted in his chair, "Yeah, but-"

Chiron continued, "Can you see things that other people cannot? Things that shouldn't reasonably exist?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"And can you do things that no one else can? Powers or skills that you can't explain?"

Oliver thought about his precognition, his fiery visions that warn him when he's in danger, and how they saved his life more times than he could count, "I do," he said, reaching for his pendant, "but-"

Chiron cut him off softly, as if breaching terrible news, "Then tell me," he said, pen at the ready, "one thing that proves you are not a half-blood."

It was supposed to be a trick question. A moment of realization that made demigods think 'Holy shit, I'm a child of a god'. Oliver figured that Chiron was hiding a tiny smirk beneath his beard, waiting for that wide-eyed reaction that all teachers loved: the look of a student finding a breakthrough. But for Oliver, that reaction didn't come from realizing his parentage, but from finding a way to prove himself, "Celestial bronze," he said, immediately reaching towards his belt for the combat knife he kept in a special sheath at the small of his back. Chiron's eye widened as Oliver brought out the razor sharp, serrated blade with the hiss of metal on plastic.

"No!" he cried out, hand extended as Oliver brought the softly glowing weapon down onto his wrist as if he made to chop his own hand off.

Exactly as Oliver knew it would, the knife passed clean through his skin, flesh and bone like it was a flashlight. He looked up to see that the teacher was now the one with the wide eyes, and Oliver allowed a small grin of satisfaction to cross his face. If he remembered correctly Chiron was thousands of years old, and this was obviously something he saw very, very rarely, if ever. He got himself under control quickly however, and Oliver sheathed the knife as Chiron got a serious but curious look in his deep, ancient eyes, "Tell me everything," he said, bringing a hand up to his beard.

So, Oliver told him. He told him about how he on the run, how he came into contact with a hostile force that he couldn't identify (The Hunters). He told him how he caught a train in Vermont while being pursued by the hostile force all the way, and how he had to fight off the Manticore to get on board. He told him how, when he was on the train, how Hermes came into contact with him. He told him how the god gave him the package, orders to bring it to his sons, and permission to enter (which explained how he crossed the border, which he did not know about until later). When he was done with his tale Chiron nodded, running his hand through his beard, "Well, I admit this is strange, but it is not unheard of for mortals to earn the favor of the gods. Odysseus is the first one that springs to my mind. Achilles for another," he frowned, "although, Achilles' mother was a nymph, but I'm sure you catch my point."

 _See? He knows this is basically the Odyssey, and you've barely told him the truth!_

 _Shut up, Marvin._

 _Hey, I'm just saying. Odysseus and Achilles were grade-A badasses back in the day, as I'm sure you know. It's quite an honor even to be considered to be in the same camp as them._

Oliver kept it in mind, but turned his attention back to Chiron, giving the old centaur a slight nod, "I do," he said, tapping the package in front of him, "but with all due respect sir, I don't wanna be here any longer than I absolutely need to."

Chiron chuckled, "I understand that, but it is currently," he glanced at an old fashioned grandfather clock across the room, "eleven twenty three. Lights out was called one hour and twenty three minutes ago. I'm afraid you'll have to wait until breakfast to deliver your package."

Oliver bit back a curse. He knew this would be more complicated than just a 'go here, give this' type of thing. He sighed and drummed his fingers against the yellow paper, "Can't I just leave it with you, and you can give it to the Stolls in my place?"

Chiron gave the young man a knowing look, and he slipped into teacher mode, "Well, Lord Hermes offered you something in exchange for giving his sons that, didn't he?" he asked, looking for all intents and purposes like the world's strangest Latin teacher. Oliver just gave him a nod, a cold knot of fear forming in his stomach as he sensed where the ancient teacher was going with this.

"Well," Chiron said as he gestured at the package in the center of the table, "if you do not hold up your end of the deal, why should Lord Hermes?"

 _He's got a point, Oliver._

 _I know._

 _You'll have to spend at least a night here._

 _I know._

 _And you know that this won't end well._

 _I have no doubt it won't._

 _What's the backup plan?_

 _I'll let you know when I come up with one._

 _...Fantastic._

Oliver, after that brief conversation with Marvin, looked up at Chiron and asked, "Where should I sleep?"

Chiron smiled like he had just seen a student pass with flying colors and gestured for Oliver to follow, "I'm sure we have a guest room or two open. Come."

Oliver, after a moment of hesitation, slung his bag over his shoulder and followed the old horse. The two walked to the hallway, with a staircase on one side and a small set of doors on the other. Chiron pointed with his pen up the staircase, his forgotten clipboard tucked under his arm, "Up one floor, second door on the right," he said, giving Oliver a small smile, "sleep well, Mr. Irons."

Oliver just nodded and clambered up the stairs, suddenly bone tired. He hadn't gotten much sleep on the train, no surprise there, so the notion of a good night's rest was as alien to him as a friendly Hunter. And on that thought, that singular word, Hunter, an image he desperately attempted to suppress was ripped back into his consciousness: the girl in the train station, with the Manticore's spine protruding from her back like a some sick sculpture. He almost tripped up the last step, throwing one hand down to stop his fall and sending the other up to cover his mouth as he wretched. Thankfully he hadn't eaten much on the train, otherwise he was positive he would've vomited. He stumbled up the last stair and down the hall, leaning against the wall, his throat constricting, strangling him, forcing him to take deep breathes of air just to keep his vision steady. He slammed the door of the guest room behind him, not even bothering to do his ritual as he slumped against the wood.

And then, like a parasite, a single thought entered his mind, just a series of three words that knocked the air out of his lungs.

 _It's your fault._

Oliver got his breathing under control, barely, and folded his legs up to his chest.

 _No it's not._ He chanted it like a prayer under his breath, clenching his fists to tight his knuckles turned white, fingernails digging into his palms.

The voice was like a snake: cold, cruel and vaguely feminine, and it ripped apart his mantra like spiderwebs. _Yes, it is. If you didn't run, if you stood your ground and fought like a man, she would be alive._

Oliver felt tears burn his eyes, and he felt a question flicker to life. Why was this affecting him so much? She was _hunting_ him, for the gods' sake! But it was quickly suffocated under another wave of guilt as the voice said. _The Lieutenant was right: you are a coward, Oliver Irons, one of the greatest in five hundred years._

The freezing fist around his heart tightened it's grip, and his temples felt like it was in between a vice for another eternity, before it dissipated, leaving behind a feeling of numbness across his entire body. He remained slumped against the door for an unknown amount of time, before he got to his feet, wiping the tears from the corner of his eyes with his jacket sleeve. Marvin spoke in his mind, barely feeling his inherit warmth.

 _Oliver-_

Oliver cut him off, sounding harsher than he intended _. I'm fine, Marvin._

 _No, you're not._

Oliver sighed, bringing a cigarette out of his jacket and lighting it with shaky hands. As the nicotine flooded his system and calmed him ever so slightly he picked up his duffel bag and took his first real look around his new room. It was nice, but simple, with a bed against one wall, a desk against another in front of a window and an old fashioned clock high on the wall. He set his bag on the desk and pulled out the chair, zipping it open and carefully bringing out it's contents. It was something his father taught him, how to take inventory, and he did his best to focus on the two hour lessons when he was thirteen. After sorting out all of his gear in neat lines, he took a look at everything he owned. His M14 with the bayonet fixed to the end, the USP Match and a short, sawed off eight gauge double barreled shotgun his father had lovingly called 'The Skeleton Key'. When Oliver had asked about the name, his father just looked at him and said, 'Because it'll open any door.'

The rest of the desk was stocked with various other pieces of equipment. A few grenades of various variations, the card Prometheus had given him, a leather pouch of things called 'Drachmas' (which Oliver had never needed to use, but kept them anyway because they were gold), his gun cleaning kit, tobacco bag and rolling paper, his Ziploc bag of toiletries and a change of clothes. That was it, all of Oliver's earthly possessions. But what caught his eye was what wasn't there: ammunition. His M14 only had two magazines left and some spare rounds, his USP had three left and the shotgun was down to a baker's dozen shells. He sighed and leaned back in the chair, stubbing out his cigarette and, after making sure it wasn't burning, flicked it into the trash, sufficiently calmed. Marvin spoke up, thankfully ignoring the previous conversation. _We could talk to the Hephaestus kids. I heard they could make all kinds of crazy shit. Chariots, magic shields. Hell, I think I heard something about a bronze dragon a few years back. Some bullets should be no problem for them._

Oliver just hummed an acknowledgement, standing up and making his way to the bed, falling face first into the pillow. It unbelievably comfortable, and he groaned as his muscles relaxed and his skin met the cool linen. As he shifted and tried to discover the most optimal sleeping position Marvin spoke again, his voice soft.

 _Hey, Oliver._

 _What?_

 _You're a good man. Really. From what I've heard, the great Hercules wouldn't have batted an eye at that Hunter's death. But you care. You didn't even know her and you almost cried. That makes you a good man. Don't forget that._

Despite the cold bloom of guilt he felt in his chest at the mention of the dead girl, Oliver felt a small smile cross his face. _Thanks, Marvin._

 _No problem, kid. Get some sleep, we've got a real interesting day ahead of us._

Oliver didn't argue. He settled into the most comfortable position he could get into and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep the likes of which he hasn't had in weeks.


	8. Camp, Pt 1

(Okay, I had to change up the schedule of uploads a little. I will be leaving for Vermont (Oh the irony) with my mother and sister tomorrow, and I will be in the car all day and be in the state. I am sorry for missing these many days of uploading chapters, but I have just been pretty busy as of late and just haven't gotten the chance to work on this as much as I want to. So I will be writing for most of the time I'm in the car, with the hope that I can post a bunch of chapters when I get there to make up for all of the missed days. Sorry for the wait, hope y'all understand.)

-O-

When Oliver woke up, he did so immediately and without fanfare. His body simply said 'Up!', and he was awake. He scanned the unfamiliar room he found himself in with dark eyes, fingers wrapping around the cool plastic of the handgun under his pillow. And then, all at once, he remembered where he was. Camp Half-Blood, he thought the name of the place was. He shuffled over to the desk, where a quick once-over told him that all of his equipment was still there before he shifted his gaze to look through the window. He couldn't see much aside from a broad strawberry field with a few figures roaming throughout the dense greenery, tending to the fruit. Beyond that was a beach that ran along a large lake, Long Island Sound, with a beached Greek trireme undergoing repairs. Oliver quietly swung his jacket over his shoulders, stuffed Hermes' package into another pocket and was about to leave the room when Marvin said, _Grab the drachmas. We might need to pay the Hephaestus kids for their services._

Oliver hummed in acknowledgement and snatched the leather bag from the table, hefting it once before stuffing it into his inner jacket pocket, _Good call._

 _I try._

Oliver carefully made his way down the stairs of the large house, the sounds of conversation drifting up from the front room he and Chiron had spoken in the previous night. He was about to turn the corner when he began to understand the words being spoken, the speaker sounding either very bored or very passive aggressive, "...As much as you do, old friend but he's starting to get unreasonable, even more so than usual."

Oliver didn't recognize the voice, but he heard Chiron respond as thunder rumbled overhead, "Thank you, Dionysus. Get well soon."

The other man, Dionysus, just grumbled and Oliver was aware of the vague, sour scent of grapes hanging in the air. He waited a moment, stowing away what he heard for later reference, before stepping around the corner. Chiron was alone and, bizarrely, was in a wheelchair at the table in the room, looking into the fireplace with a thousand-yard stare that made Oliver briefly wonder if the old centaur had turned to stone. Then he cleared his throat and Chiron turned his head, a small smile forcing it's way onto his face, "Ah, Mr. Irons. How did you sleep?"

Oliver just shrugged and leaned against the door frame, subconsciously scanning the rest of the room for the second voice he had heard, "Well enough, sir."

Chiron just nodded, wheeling over to the door, either unaware of the eavesdropping or too deep in his own thoughts, "Well, you have impeccable timing. Breakfast is about to begin."

The moment Chiron was finished speaking a horn blew in the distance, and Oliver briefly wondered who's job it was to use that thing at the crack of dawn every day before he followed Chiron out the door. Immediately he was taken by the sheer amount of lush green that filled the valley, and the bizarre collection of buildings to one side. There was a little more than a dozen of them, about twenty, making an omega shape, and each was stranger than the last. From the buildings came a steady stream of kids, aged elementary to college, all marching up to a large open air pavilion, where breakfast would presumably be served. Oliver followed Chiron, still in wheelchair form, up the hill. The buildings that made up the rest of the camp, now in full daylight, were beautiful, all white marble and fine Greek architecture. He could make out an amphitheater, some kind of climbing wall that appeared to be spewing lava and an arena, along with the forest that stretched along the back of the camp. As the two made their way up the hill Oliver was acutely aware of curious eyes turning in his direction, and he kept his own trained ahead of him, focusing on the pavilion as it came into view.

It was open to the air and huge, enough to fit two rows of ten long tables, with another, albeit smaller, one at the head. A large bronze brazer blazed in the center of the pavilion, billowing black smoke into the air. As Oliver watched, the stream of campers filtered out to the various tables he noticed something odd: the tables weren't evenly filled. One was packed to almost overcrowding, while one had literally two guys, one of which was at least six foot three. And four were completely empty, no one sitting there at all.

 _For the various gods,_ Marvin mused, _never understood that rule. Why does it matter where they eat?_

Oliver gave Chiron a questioning look, but the old teacher simply gestured for him to follow and began wheeling towards the head table. Oliver, seeing no other option, followed, doing his best to ignore the now numerous looks he was receiving as he sat in the no doubt honored seat to the left of Chiron, with the seat at the head of the table noticeably empty. Thankfully, the majority of the campers were simply curious, hushing the conversation around them as they looked up at Chiron expectedly. The centaur held up his hand and patiently waited for the talking to cease. When it did he cleared his throat, his voice easily filling the pavilion, "Before we get into announcements I'd like to introduce our mortal guest," he gestured at Oliver as he spoke, and the mortal could visually see their heads perk up at the word 'mortal', "Oliver Irons."

Oliver just gave a small wave at the mention of his name as Chiron continued, "Connor and Travis Stoll, would you please raise your hands?"

Two guys from the overcrowded table, both with curly brown hair and upturned eyebrows, looked surprised before putting their hands in the air. Oliver glanced at Chiron, who simply gave him a nod. Oliver stood up and walked down to the two brothers, bringing out the package from Hermes as he approached, the only sounds in the pavilion being the fire, the whispering of the other campers and his boots hitting the marble. One of the brothers, he had no idea which, raised an eyebrow as Oliver stopped in front of the table, "Who's it from?"

Oliver just held out the yellow paper package to the younger man and said, "Your father."

At those two simple words the entire table looked up with such a variety of emotions Oliver couldn't quite understand all of them and the Stoll in front of him snatched the package out of his hand. The instant his quarry left his hand Oliver felt something appear in his pocket, but he left it alone as he watched the Stoll tear open the paper, the other brother crowding him to see what it was. Hermes didn't tell him what was inside and it felt pretty normal to the mortal, like a shoe box or something, so he was fairly curious with what the messenger god was having him deliver. The Stoll brother tore the package wide open and pulled out a plain, black shoe box.

Oliver couldn't keep the incredulous look off of his face at the object, but the brothers looked like it was Christmas morning, brown eyes bright as they took off the lid. Inside the shoe box was, unsurprisingly, a pair of ink black Converse sneakers. But something was off about them; Oliver swore the light around them shifted and distorted, like a black hole. Curiosity got the better of him and he asked one, "So your father made me deliver... Shoes?"

The one he had asked looked up at him in horror, like he hasn't heard of the coolest thing in the world, "No man, these are shadow shoes!"

Oliver just looked at him, and he heard the other brother mutter something about mortals under his breath before he said, "Look, the soles were bathed in the five rivers of the Underworld," as he spoke he snatched one of the sneakers from the box and gestured at the sole, "so now, whoever wears them can walk anywhere they want."

Oliver raised an eyebrow, "Anywhere?"

The Stolls both nodded eagerly, obviously distracted, and the one on the left said, "Yeah. Up walls, across ceilings, over water, whatever. Plus, they make you untrackable," before Oliver could ask, the Stoll brought the sole of the shadow shoe down onto the table. It made no sound whatsoever, and no mark was left on the table, not even a little scruff on the marble. The Stolls looked at each other with devious smiles, and Oliver chose the moment to walk back to the head table as the entire cabin descended into excited conversation. When he settled back next to Chiron the old centaur let out a sigh, "Mr. Irons, you know not what you've done."

Oliver just shrugged and watched as the Stolls admired their new loot, "Hey, blame Hermes. I'm just the messenger."

Chiron just chuckled, "I am not blaming anyone. In fact, I am almost happy for those two to be back to their usual antics. These past few months have been difficult for us, and a return to normalcy is well welcomed."

Oliver glanced at him for more, but the old man was moving on to the morning announcements without pause. At this point Oliver stopped paying attention, opting instead to reach into his pocket and inspect the item that had appeared. His eyebrow climbed up his forehead as he pulled out a set of car keys, well worn and weathered.

Marvin said, _Suitable transportation my ass._

 _I dunno, Marv. They gotta be magic, or-_

 _Or he lied to our face. Just throw 'em in the fire, hope he chokes on the smoke up in Olympus._

Oliver looked at it, keeping it in his hand. There was something about the keys, but he couldn't quite place the feeling. _I'll hang on to them for a bit. You never know, Marvin, he might've been genuine._

Marvin just huffed. _Fine, but don't hold your breath._

Oliver was about to reply when a platter of food was abruptly set in front of him, a lithe green arm quickly retreating out of his vision and disappearing along with the rest of the nymph. As he was about to take a bite of the everything bagel in front of him Chiron gently nudged him and directed his attention to the brazier in the middle of the pavilion, where the rest of the campers were scrapping pieces of food inside. Oliver raised an eyebrow and leaned a little closer, "I'm not a camper though, I'm only staying for a few days, max."

Chiron simply shrugged, "I know, Mr. Irons, but it's polite to offer the gods a portion of every meal, as those in ancient times did."

'I don't give a damn about what's polite, they'll kill me anyway,' was what Oliver wanted to say, but instead he bit his tongue and walked down to the brazier, opting to drop a cluster of strawberries into the fire, carefully to avoid sticking his face into the thick, black smoke. He never really liked strawberries anyway. The rest of breakfast was uneventful, and Oliver was about to leave when the horn blew again, but Chiron stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. The rest of the campers were filling out of the pavilion, but Chiron singled one out with a gesture, "Percy!" he called out, and a dark haired guy a few years younger than Oliver approached, a curious look on his face, "Show Mr. Irons around, will you?"

Oliver just shook his head, "With respect sir, I just need to know where the Hephaestus cabin is."

Chiron cocked an eyebrow, but waved off the camper and pointed to a large brick building with a smokestack protruding out of the top, "Well, it's right there. If you need anything, do not hesitate to ask."

Oliver just nodded and began to make his way down to the hill, keeping the large cabin in sight. Campers milled around the broad green of the camp grounds, doing all kinds of activities that would look right at home on a brochure. Archery, climbing the wall, riding horses and Pegasuses (Pegasi?). As he walked across the expanse he felt curious eyes following his every movement, assessing him, trying to determine if he was a threat or not. Though every instinct in his body told him to run, he didn't belong here, that this was no place for him, he walked as confidently as he could. Teenagers, much like wild animals, could smell fear, and he wasn't sure how a bunch of super-powered godlings would react to his. He rubbed the keys in his pocket absentmindedly as he came upon the cabin.

The door was like that of a vault, circular and made of a thick metal. He rapped against it three times and had to wait a few seconds before it opened with a thousand grinding gears and the hiss of smoke. A girl, also a few years younger than him, stood at the door with a neutral expression on her face, simply curious. She had coco-brown skin, dark hair tied back with a red bandanna and a tank top, and she tilted her chin up at him, "What do you want?"

"I just came to ask for some ammo," he said, bringing out the bag of drachmas, "I am fully wiling to pay, if that matters."

The girl cocked an eyebrow but jerked a thumb over her shoulder, "Alright, you'll wanna talk to Rowan then. She's our resident gunsmith, just look for the girl with glasses and red hair."

Before he could get another word out the girl turned and walked back into the cabin without waiting on him, and Oliver had to jump inside before the thick metal door slammed shut. The first thing he saw was the mess; it was cluttered with tools, tables, blueprints, scrap metal and half-finished projects. The steel bunks were folded against the wall to make more room for clutter, a fire pole came down from an unseen second floor, and a circular staircase lead down to a basement. There were a few kids inside, but a majority were out doing activities, and even then most of them were working on one thing or another, and none of them looked alike. They seemed to be divided into two categories, Builders and Tinkerers. The Builders were heavily muscled and looked like they can rip an engine block out of a truck, while the Tinkerers were smaller, almost resembling the Hermes kids with their lithe fingers and sharp features. Oliver walked through the cabin until he came upon a single figure at a workbench, wine red hair gleaming in the light.

Rowan was a Tinkerer, with slight fingers and pale skin, her hair cut messily just short of her shoulders, singed at the ends. A pair of banged up glasses rested on her nose, and she was utterly invested with the partly disassembled AR-15 in front of her, making complex modifications to the weapon. Oliver cleared his throat as the girl continued on with the modifications, "Uh, Rowan?" he said, shifting his gaze to her.

Rowan barely glanced at him as she said, "Busy," and Oliver was surprised to hear German undertones in her accent.

"I just wanted to ask-"

She cut him off, "Look, unless you can figure out how to fix this damned thing, leave me alone. Someone else can help you, I'm sure."

"Well, what's the problem?"

The girl kept furiously working on it, "It won't fire, and I've done everything I can think of, so please feel free."

Oliver gave the weapon a once over and asked, "Is it piston or impingement?"

Rowan seemed to perk up a little, and she slightly turned her head towards him, "Piston."

And just like that, a wide range of answers came into his mind. In general piston driven guns are more accurate and run smoother, but they also have about a thousand different moving parts, all of which can malfunction in a thousand ways, "Well, did you clean the bolt and feed?"

"Yes."

"Cleared the chamber?"

"Yes."

"Checked the hammer and firing pin?"

Rowan slammed the palm of her hand on the table, her accent getting stronger, "Ja! I told you, I have tried everyzing I could think of, so please-"

"Did you turn the safety off?"

Rowan was silent for a long time, before a soft click filled the air. Oliver couldn't stifle a small laugh from escaping his lips, "I'll take that as a no."

The girl stood up and turned around, facing him for the first time, focusing dark hazel eyes on the newcomer. If some girls had doll faces, Rowan had a statue face, all sharp lines and high cheekbones. She would've looked perfectly fine, pretty, but her nose interrupted the visage. It was bent in the middle at an awkward angle, obviously broken just one too many times for ambrosia to heal it completely. Her face as red as her hair, arms crossed over a camp half-blood shirt, her accent still prevalent as she said, "What do you want?"

Oliver just lifted his palms into the air in the universal sign of peace, "I just want some ammo, alright? I can pay," he pulled out the drachma bag and hefted it, "deal?"

Rowan considered the offer before giving him a shrug, "Sure, what do you need?"


	9. Camp, Pt 2

(Sorry I haven't updated in a while. School has started for me recently and I have been trying my best to stay on top of things, so I haven't had much free time for anything as of late. Sorry again, and thank you for waiting.)

-O-

His business concluded at the Hephaestus cabin, Oliver stepped back out into the sunlit camp, and he instinctively reached into his jacket for a cigarette. It was more of a muscle reflex than a conscious decision at this point, and he pondered briefly if he should leave it in his pocket. Marvin spoke up in the back of his mind.

 _On your right._

Oliver turned. Approaching from his right, the direction of the cabins, was a posse of teenagers with perfect hair and designer clothes. There were about half a dozen of them, four girls and two guys, but just one of them looked more than capable of annoying Oliver to the point that he wants to put a bullet in his mouth.

He lit the cigarette.

The first girl was pretty, Asian, and at least five years younger than Oliver, but was fluttering her eyelashes at him like she had a something stuck in them. The five other kids fanned out slightly behind the first girl, who Oliver assumed to be the leader, and Marvin snorted.

 _Venus spawn. Think they're the best things since indoor plumbing._

 _You mean Aphrodite?_

 _Aphrodite, Venus, Freya, whatever. The only real difference between any of them is geography and name._

 _Well, they're all love goddesses._

Marvin sighed. _You've got a lot to learn, kid._

Before he could make a response to the voice in his head, the Asian girl cleared her throat in front of him and said, "So, you're the mortal, huh?"

The way she said it made it sound like he had some kind of disease, and he had to resist the not inconsiderable urge to blow smoke in her face. Oliver just nodded once, keeping his face as neutral as he could manage. With a stony expression and some luck, maybe they'll leave him alone. That hope went out of the metaphorical window the instant the Asian let out a fake laugh and placed her hand on his arm, "Well, I'm Drew, and I'm sure you have all kinds of awesome stories. C'mon, walk and talk."

But Oliver could think of at least seven better ways he could spend the rest of his day and planted his feet into the ground. He had no idea why this wanna-be seductress wanted to walk with him, but he sure as shit didn't want to walk with her. He shook his head, brushing off her hand and saying, "I'm alright, thanks."

But something odd happened. Drew put her hand right back onto his arm, got a weird look in her eye and spoke again, but spoke... differently, "Oh, hon, please? It'll be fun, promise."

For a second, it did sound like a good idea. Her voice sounded inexplicably softer than it had before, and he suddenly couldn't think of anything better to do than hang out with this Asian chick and her posse of half-siblings. And then, just as fast as the thoughts appeared in his head, Marvin barked.

 _Oh, hell no._

As Marvin said that, fiery pain blossomed in the back of Oliver's skull, rapidly spreading through the rest of his brain like some kind of inverse brain freeze. He flinched at the suddenness of the pain's arrival, he smacked Drew's hand off and his mind was ripped free of the girl's influence. Marvin's voice sounded smug.

 _No love magic for you._

 _What did you do?_

Marvin snorted as the Aphrodite kids backed up a step, and Drew's eyes widened a little bit.

 _The best answer I can give you is real complicated so I'll be simple: my whole original purpose was to be a fire, a gift to mankind._

 _You seem more like a curse to me._

 _Shut up, I'm giving exposition._

 _What?_

 _Nevermind. While I was a literal, physical fire, Prometheus also imbued me with some of his Titan magic._

 _So that's why you have a personality?_

 _Exactly. And, while he was at it, he also made me burn in the... metaphysical sense, I guess the best description would be._

 _...Okay._

Marvin groaned.

 _Look, what else does a fire do, besides burn?_

 _Give off light?_

Marvin actually sounded a little impressed. A little.

 _There's hope for you after all. Yeah, after I was given to humanity I wasn't just used to cook fish; I burned so brightly that mortals could see through the Mist, and charmspeak is just manipulating the Mist through words._

 _What happened? If you're still burning, why can't all mortals see through the Mist?_

For the first time since Oliver could remember, Marvin sounded... old. Melancholic.

 _Well, word got around. The Fire of Mankind, which burned so bright it gave every man sight. The first theft attempt happened about six months after I first came to Mi- Earth. I burned the bastard alive, but he got a tiny piece. The next attempt was a year later, three men came, three men burned, and three men got a tiny piece of magic fire. Continue this for three thousand years._

Now, Marvin sounded angry, and the pendant around Oliver's neck started to grow uncomfortably warm on his chest.

 _I was a bonfire once. A great, roaring flame at the top of a hill in Athens, looking over the entire city, giving light to every man, woman and child on the face of the planet. Now, I'm barely a candle._

Oliver was trying to imagine what it had to feel like, to be something so great, so powerful, only to be ruined by the very people you helped and empowered. It made his stomach turn and twist into knots.

 _What about the Keepers? Why didn't they do anything?_

Marvin took a few moments to calm down.

 _Because, after Zeus discovered what Prometheus had done, he chained him to a rock and set a vulture on him. He only established the Keepers when he got free in the First Titan War. But even with their help, even when only one thief made it through every ten years, twenty years, fifty, a hundred, it was enough. By the time we moved to America, The Keepers were so few and I was so weak and small that everyone just... forgot about us._

A long silence followed the end of the conversation, and it was only then that Oliver realized he's been standing still in front of the Aphrodite kids for about a minute and a half, and decided to just walk away, turning his back to them with barely a glance.

 _So... you can give me super powers?_

Marvin laughed, and the uncomfortable warmth around his neck turned to something more akin to a campfire.

 _I wouldn't call it that, but I can pull a few tricks out of my hat._

 _Why didn't you mention any of this before?_

 _You were running from the Hunters of Artemis, I think you had larger concerns._

 _...Well, what can you do?_

 _I'm not sure. I haven't had a proper host in a few decades, I'm a little hazy on the details._

As Oliver walked aimlessly through the camp, he noticed he was approaching a large, stadium-like building at the edge of the grounds which seemed to be empty at the moment. And leaning against the wall of that building, right next to the door, was a blonde girl that was staring right at him, arms crossed. She looked like a teacher waiting for a late student to come into class for a sound scolding. All she was missing was the yardstick and a pair of glasses. When she saw him looking at her, she just nodded once and jerked her thumb into the arena behind her and walked in, not even sparing him a look.

 _Are you sure you don't remember anything?_

 _You're just a hit with the opposite gender, aren't you?_

Oliver looked up at the arena where Professor Scary-Blonde entered, sighed, resigned to his fate, and walked in after her.


	10. Camp, Pt 3

(So, after a second failed save, a math test and a sleepless night, here we are, the full version of this chapter. Sorry for the wait.)

-O-

The arena was a spacious, airy stadium covered in gleaming sand, with a row of weapons on one wall and about a dozen straw dummies against the opposite side. The sun was peeking over the rim of the arena's high wall, shining directly into Oliver's eyes and forcing him to shield them for a moment as they adjusted. Professor Scary-Blonde was standing in front of one of the dummies with a dagger in her hand, looking at it as if analyzing the best way to gut it open. Oliver carefully approached as she nodded to herself and, in one swift movement, slashed upward in a flash of bronze that parted the dummy from it's right arm, before swinging her dagger twice more and causing it's stomach to spew forth the fluff stuffing packed into the rough skin.

As the sand crunched against Oliver's boots the girl turned to him, and he got his first look at her eyes. They were gray, a hard storm-cloud color that contrasted starkly against her otherwise California-blonde aesthetic. She looked him up and down with those eyes as he stopped his march, studying him like she studied the dummy, a comparison Oliver was not fond of. The girl's eyes sized him up, only ever pausing when they landed on thee pendant around his neck, and Oliver cursed himself for not hiding it under his shirt before he entered the arena. The girl allowed silence to hang in the air for a few moments, smoke steadily rising from the cigarette in Oliver's mouth, the sound of the camp fading into the background. "So, you're mortal," she said, finally, as she finished her evaluation.

Oliver snorted, tapping the top of his cigarette to ash it, "Yeah, that's me. The mortal."

The girl sheathed her dagger and crossed her arms across her chest, the cool, intellectual look in her eyes never fading, "Then do you want to tell me how you resisted Drew's charmspeak? Not even her cabinmates, her siblings, can do that. So how did you?"

The question Oliver was dreading. The way Marvin had explained it, charmspeak was a kind of mind-control used by daughters of Aphrodite, and some others, by manipulating the Mist with their voice, like a siren's song. So, lacking a solid answer, Oliver said, "I'm uh, not exactly interested in girls."

Like every good lie, it was half-true. As a kid, and to this day, he found people of both gender to be equally attractive. For example; when he was a teenager he had a crush on two celebrities; Halle Berry and Tristan McLean, and he could never decide which one he liked more, even to this day.

The girl just kept her gaze on him though, either not believing him or not willing to show that she did, "Really?"

Oliver nodded, holding his breath a little as he braced for the lie, "Correct. I'm about as straight as a lightning bolt."

Though the suspicious look in her eyes remained stoic, she held out her hand after a moment of thought and said, "I'm Annabeth Chase. Nice to meet you."

Oliver returned the gesture and, after a brief hesitation, shook her hand, "Oliver Irons, likewise."

Annabeth nodded, a few beats of slightly uncomfortable silence passing between them before she said, "Well, what do you think of Camp Half-Blood?"

Oliver thought about the lush green grass of the camp, the flying horses and the happy looks on almost every face. Of the cabins filled with siblings, the campfire he had heard snippets of excited conversation of, the capture-the-flag game that was apparently tonight. And then he thought of his promise, his duty which burned around his neck, and how much he was risking it by just his presence here. So he looked at Annabeth, gave her a small smile and said, shrugging, "It's nice, but it's uh, not really my kinda place."

"No, it isn't, is it?" She replied, those cool gray eyes never straying from his face, as if she was trying to absorb as much data as she could from his every twitch and blink. The silence hung heavy in the air for several more uncomfortable seconds until she followed her statement up with, "So, what is it that Drew wanted?"

Oliver flushed slightly at the much younger girl's attitude, "She offered to give me a tour of the place, but I don't think that was her real intention, was it?"

The blonde just snorted, "No, I'd say not. She was interested in you because there's only one other mortal at camp, and she just so happens to be the Oracle." She gave him another one of those cool, analytical looks before she continued, "Drew's an airhead, but she isn't stupid. She knows something's up with you."

Marin glowed slightly and hummed to himself.

 _She's a perceptive one, isn't she? Daughter of Athena, if I were a betting man._

Oliver ignored him and gave the girl a shrug, "What's up with me? Just a mortal doing a job for a god, what's so weird about that?"

The instant he opened his mouth, he knew he made a mistake, as the Annabeth's eyes squinted slightly and she took a step forward, "You wanna know what's weird about that? It's the fact that the Oracle is the only mortal that's been allowed to set foot inside this camp for longer than I can remember. It's the fact that you, a mortal, were personally given a package to deliver by Hermes, a God of Olympus. It's the fact that you resisted Drew's charmspeak." She jabbed her finger at the pendant hanging around his neck, still glowing softly, "It's the fact that that thing around your neck hasn't stopped glowing since breakfast."

Marin laughed.

 _Oh, I like her._

Oliver, meanwhile, was running his limited variety of options through his head. He could try to keep bluffing her, but he had a funny feeling that that wouldn't work out too well in the long run, or short run for that matter. If he told the truth, that he worked for Prometheus and was just trying to get by, he wasn't sure how the girl would react. True, she could take it like Hermes and leave him be, but then Oliver remembered that these kids had just fought a war with the Titans not too long ago, and he doubted those wounds had fully healed, metaphorically and literally. Ignoring the questions would just bring more trouble than it would avoid. At this point, he was seriously considering knocking her out and bailing on the camp entirely, unless someone very popular and very nice walked into the arena and saved him from the scary blonde girl.

Which, incidentally, is exactly what happened.

The pounding of feet on dirt followed the class of Half-Bloods by a few seconds, and their excited voices soon joined the sound. Soon enough, an entire group of campers had entered the arena, all with swords and armor, lead by the admittedly attractive dark haired guy from breakfast, who was talking to one of the younger kids. When he caught sight of Annabeth his face split into a grin, which quickly diminished just a bit when he saw the serious look on her face. The guy, Percy, Oliver thought his name was, looked at him with a cocked eyebrow, and the older guy just gave him what was basically a 'help me' look. Percy frowned for a moment before apparently realizing what was happening. He gave Oliver a thumbs-up before excusing himself from the class and walking over to the pair, at which point Annabeth realized he was there and sighed, turning to say, "Percy, I'm in the middle of-"

He gently interrupted her, that small smile still on his face, "Interrogating our guest?"

At that the blonde bit her lip and turned to Oliver, holding up one finger and saying to him, "One moment, please."

The two stepped aside and began a quiet discussion, while the rest of the class, and Oliver, just stood around for a few minutes. Marvin spoke.

 _Well, that was mighty convenient, wasn't it?_

Oliver took the moment to light a cigarette from his jacket pocket, keeping an eye on the two as they debated. _Yes, it was. Knight in shining armor, and all that._

There was a pause, before Oliver continued. _We can't stay here, can we?_

Marvin seemed to sigh. _No. If that girl is that suspicious of us after one afternoon, I doubt she'll keep her thoughts to herself._

Oliver actually sighed as he breathed out the cancerous fumes, the pleasant buzz spreading across his shoulders. We _leave at first light tomorrow, then. Before anyone's up._

 _That would be wisest move._

At this point the campers were forming makeshift sparring circles and smacking each other with practice swords, yelping and hooting every time one of them got a good whack in. Eventually, Annabeth stepped away from Percy and, with one last, suspicious glance in Oliver's direction, walked out of the arena. The dark haired guy walked and stopped in front of Oliver and said, "Sorry about my girlfriend. She can get a little, uh, intense, at times." He held out his hand, "Percy Jackson. Don't think we've formally met yet."

Though he was just a little disappointed at the word 'girlfriend', Oliver was immensely grateful for his help and shook his hand, "Oliver Irons, and I owe you one; I think 'intense' is too gentle a word for her."

Percy laughed, drawing the eyes of the students who had stopped their little Fight Club, "Yeah, I feel the same way most of the time."

After a little bit of small talk about swords and whatnot, Percy excused himself and returned to his class, standing in the middle of the group and giving directions. Oliver watched the class for a few minutes before quietly exiting the spacious building, deep in his own thoughts, idly rubbing the pendant around his neck.

 _Stop doing that._

Oliver blinked. _What?_

 _Stop rubbing me, man. Feels really damn weird._

 _Oh. Sorry._ He stopped.

 _It's fine. I get that this isn't the best situation we've found ourselves in, but we just gotta last one day, and then we're home free._

Even though Oliver agreed with his friend, he couldn't help but feel like he was forgetting something. There was a little niggling thought in the back of his mind, but no matter how hard he tried to pin it down he just couldn't quite do it, running a hand across his jaw and feeling the prickly stubble growing there and spitting out the cigarette in his mouth. As his frustration was about to boil over, he was suddenly aware of some very loud, very violent music to his right. He turned and found himself looking at a simultaneously vaguely familiar and utterly alien sight; a red, military-esque building, with a boar head mounted above the door, the rim of the rood brimming with barbed wire. Though the boar's eyes seemed to follow him, Oliver felt an inexplicable draw towards the harsh building. But, just as he was about to take a step, Marvin cried out.

 _Hold up!_

Oliver froze. _What is it?_

A few seconds passed, before Marvin responded. _Hold on... I think I can just show you._

Before Oliver could ask what he meant, the pendant flared for a brief second, and his sight changed. It was different than his danger visions; the world appeared normal. But when he shifted his gaze to the ground his heart almost stopped. Scattered under the dirt, glowing a harsh red, were the unmistakable shapes of landmines. Oliver swallowed to wet his suddenly dry throat and asked. _So you can give me superpowers._

Marvin just snorted. _If you can call infrared vision a superpower. Just let me know when to turn it off._

Oliver hummed in response and carefully picked his way across the entrance of the cabin, eyes glues to the ground. As he did so, his eyes felt as though they had been suddenly dried, and he had to blink constantly to keep them moist. When he was standing at the door of the cabin, the music now blaring into his ear drums, and he told Marvin to cut the power, so to speak. His eyes felt like he had been staring at the sun, and he had to take a few moments to rub them and blink.

 _Not gonna lie; that kinda sucked._

Marvin snorted again. _Woulda sucked more to step on a landmine. Crazy bastards, this is a summer camp!_

 _For the magical children of Greek gods._

 _...Point._

Oliver turned his attention back to the door and, still feeling that odd pull in his gut, let himself inside, ignoring Marvin's protest of, _This is such a bad idea_.

Immediately, he wished he had listened to the four thousand year old magical being.

The inside of the cabin immediately reminded Oliver of his father's old marine barracks on Parris Island, which he had visited numerous times to meet some of Malachi's old comrades. It was surprisingly spick-and-span, with rows of bunks and personal footlockers along two walls, with a massive rack of weapons that spanned the entire far side. In the center of the room was an assortment of gym equipment, and off to the side was a small, round table. Sitting around said table were about half a dozen of the biggest, burliest teenagers Oliver had ever seen, five guys and one girl, all playing cards.

Almost in unison, the Ares campers turned to Oliver as he entered, and the girl, who was even bigger and burlier than the boys, with greasy brown hair tied back with a bandanna, yelled across the room, "Who the hell are you?"

After finding a place for his eyes to avoid her beady stare, he rested his gaze on the bridge of her many-times broken nose and replied, "Oliver, Irons. You?"

The girl seemed to size him up for a few moments before glancing at her cards and throwing a couple chips into the center. The pot appeared to be a small pile of those gold coins they used, Drachmas, and she said in return, "Clarrise, LaRue." She frowned and scratched her chin as her brothers took their turns, "Aren't you that mortal, from breakfast?"

At that, Oliver's eye twitched involuntarily. No, he wanted to say, I'm the unicorn from breakfast. Of course he was the mortal; Chiron had announced it to everyone like, an hour ago, why did everyone he meet seem to have the urge to remind him? Nevertheless, he composed himself and nodded, "Yeah, that's me."

Clarrise nodded again and, after a moment of consulting her cards, threw them down onto the table and began racking in the chips as her brothers groaned and threw their own cards down in frustration. As one of her brothers started to deal out another hand, Clarrise leaned forward in her chair and looked at Oliver again, this time glaring slightly at the mortal, "Y'know, it's pretty rude to just barge into a cabin like you just did." At that, her brothers turned to look at him, all packing mean looking mugs that only a mother could love. Or a war God, come to think of it

But Oliver recognized this. For whatever reason, groups like this always loved to mess with the new people, all across history and the world. When Oliver's father, Malachi, had first brought him to Parris Island, the first thing the gunny has said to him was, 'Lil' scrawny, ain't he Mack?' Oliver had been ten years old at the time.

So Oliver just thought of the most bravado-filled thing that came to mind, crossed his arms and said, "Well, I figured the children of a war god would appreciate that kinda attitude. Or did I stumble into the Demeter cabin by accident?"

The Ares kids glowered at him and for a second Oliver regretted every decision he had ever made up till this point, before Clarrise snorted and leaned back as her brothers turned back to the game, "Fair enough." She gestured at the seventh, and only, empty chair at the table, "You ever play hold'em, Irons? My brother Sherman would've normally been here, but he got hit in the chest by an arrow, so he can't really play right now."

Oliver thought about it for a moment before, probably against his better judgment, nodding and taking seat in between a big blond guy and a big hispanic guy, both around Oliver's height but about double his muscle mass. Clarrise jerked her chin towards the not inconsiderable amount of gold to one side of the table, "Buy-in's ten Drachmas." The corner of her lip twitched upward as she shuffled the cards, "Or is that outta your price range, Irons?"

The mortal just pulled out a cigarette, tossed ten coins into the pile with a very satisfying clinking sound, and had an idea.

 _Hey, Marvin._

The Fire sounded curious. _Whatup? It looks like you got this one in the bag, chief. Not the game, mind you, but in the fact that they probably don't wanna stab you._

 _You gotta light?_

Oliver could almost hear his companion smiled through his words. _No problem._

Oliver thoroughly enjoyed the surprised looks on the big, tough Ares kids' faces as his cigarette seemingly sparked to life by itself, and blew smoke across the table, "Not even close, LaRue."

 **-Later-**

After Oliver lost track of time, the number of games they had played and the amount of money he had tossed into the pile, he threw his final hand into the middle of the table. The Ares kid on his left smirked and threw down a better one. Then the kid next to him threw down a better hand. This continued until it came to Clarrise, who threw down a pair of aces, joining the two already on the table and laughing as she racked in the coins for the third game in a row. Oliver just shook his head and ashed his cigarette into the packed tray in front of him, packed with the smoldering remains of his former smokes. The guy on his left, Bernard, groaned and held his face in his hands, "C'mon Clarrise, I needed those coins to pay Connor! I was gonna have him smuggle in some soda for me."

Clarrise just snorted as she shoveled the coins into a small leather pouch, "Well, you shouldn't have gambled with me then, huh?"

Before Bernard could get another complaint out, someone knocked on the door to the Ares cabin. Through their marathon of a game (Christ, it must have been all day) Campers had come and gone, mostly Ares kids, but this was the first time the door had been formally knocked. Clarrise leaned back and grinned at Oliver, "See, Irons? Someone with manners." Oliver opened his mouth to reply, but the cabin leader cut him off, "C'mon in!"

The door creaked open to reveal a short, fairly familiar sight; the red haired German girl from Hephaestus. Rowan hefted a large bag in her arms, and she huffed out something angry sounding in German (though German always sounds angry), then switched to English, "Are you going to take your bloody bullets or what?"

Oliver blinked before rising to his feet and, after nodding to the Ares campers, strode over to the door, taking the bag from the smaller girl and looking inside. Neat rows of magazines lined the bag, gleaming with bronze capped bullets. Oliver nodded gratefully and stuffed it under his arm, "Thanks, Rowan."

The girl just nodded back, abruptly turning on her heel and walking back to her cabin. Oliver looked at the bag of ammunition in his arms and suddenly realized something.

 _We can leave. Right now._

 _We can._

He looked to his right, at the steadily setting sun in the distance, the orange playing off of the Long Island Sound like a... well, like a sunset. The smell of the strawberry fields filled his nose, and he heard a horn blow in the distance, signifying dinner. At that, his stomach seemed to roar right along with the horn. They had played through lunch, but Oliver hadn't even noticed; he had been winning at the time and wanted to keep pressing his luck. Which, in hindsight, was a mistake on his part. Now he was penniless _and_ hungry.

As the campers filed up to the pavilion, Oliver hefted the bag and started walking back towards the Big House, talking to Marvin in his head. _Look, we leave as soon as I wake up. Or, we wake up. Whatever. I need some food._

Marvin was biting his non-existent lip. _Fine, fine, just eat quick. I've got one of those feelings again._

Oliver ran his tongue across his teeth as he trudged up the stairs of the empty Big House. _Fine._

He opened the door to his temporary room and shut it behind him, locking, unlocking and locking it again behind him as he did so before dropping the ammo bag onto the desk where the rest of his equipment was kept. The orange sun filtered through the window and bathed the room in warm light. He did a quick run though of his inventory while he was there, before sitting down at the desk and just... resting. For the first time in weeks, nothing was trying to kill him. No gods. No psychotic girl scouts. It was just Oliver, his guns, and his magical necklace.

 _Are you... sure, we can't stay here?_

Marvin sighed, and there was a pause before he responded. _Yes, Oliver. I'm sorry, but it's just too risky to stay here for any longer than we absolutely need to._

Oliver patted his jacket for another cigarette, but bit his lip when he could only find his tobacco pouch and some rolling papers. _I mean, if we just don't tell them anything, we should be able to just... stay._

Marvin was silent for a long pause, before he responded with. _We don't belong here, Oliver. Things that don't belong either leave, or are forced to do so anyway._

Oliver rubbed his forehead and started rolling a cigarette, long fingers working seemingly on their own. _I know, but what if we can work out a d-_

Marvin cut him off, the pendant he embodied glowing and humming with power. _Dammit, listen to me! The Gods are a bunch of pretentious, contradictory assholes who follow rules that don't make any sense and care about them more than their own kids. For Chrissake Ollie, Artemis and her Hunters are trying to kill us because we **helped** them! Do those sound like reasonable people to you?_

Oliver was about to make a retort when he made the mistake of looking out the window, towards the pavilion.

The Hunters were there, a half-dozen of them, with Thalia at the head. They were in the pavilion, which Oliver noticed was silent as the entire camp watch Thalia talk to Chiron, who had a serious expression on his face. After a few minutes of conversation Chiron nodded solemnly, turned his body, and pointed at the Big House.

Directly at Oliver's window.

Marvin summed it up best.

 _Oh, shit._

 **-End of Act 2-**


	11. Escape

(I'm back. Sorry for that month-long hiatus, but I just really needed some time to myself and my friends. I just didn't feel like writing or doing much at all for a while, for reasons I stated in a previous author's note, and it was just kind of a shitty time all around. But, through Dungeons&Dragons and pizza, a couple of buddies managed to pull me out of it, so I'm feeling much better now.

Anyway, no more pity-partying for me; time for what you're all here for.)

-O-

Oliver watched the posse gather and approach the Big House for a few seconds as the full weight of the situation dawned on him. He was going to have start running. Again. For a brief moment, a flash, he hated Prometheus for putting him in this situation. For giving him this responsibility, this duty to protect something he barely understands from things he barely understands for reasons he barely understands. He felt his grip tighten into a fist, heard Marvin calling him in the back of his mind, but he didn't react to any of it, just staring blankly at the crowd of armed half-gods who wanted to kill him.

And then the thought passed, as fast as it had come, and the hate shifted to himself. He lowered his eyes back to the desk in front of him and relaxed his grip, rubbing his forehead to relive some of the pressure that had built up behind his eyes. He shoved the doubtful thoughts back into his mind and took a deep breath as Marvin spoke up in his mind.

 _Hey man, you alright? I've been yellin' at you for like a minute._

Oliver nodded and began to rummage through his duffel bag, pulling out a few items. _Yeah, yeah, just... thinking. What's the game plan?_

As Oliver began to stuff handgun magazines into his jacket pocket Marvin said. _Well... There's thirty-odd demigods outside, half a dozen armed with bows and the rest with melee weapons. Unless those girl scouts can shot accurately at three hundred yards, I recommend we get the hell out of here and pick'em off as they approach._

Oliver, after a moment of consideration, decided to shove The Skeleton Key into his other jacket pocket, holding the sawed-off shotgun into place with a few strips of duct tape. It took a bit of a tug, but he could draw it. He started to pour shells into his other pocket as Marvin continued with a slight chuckle. _Y'know, this reminds me of a jam I got myself in with one of your predecessors, back in '63._

Oliver stopped what he was doing. _Really?_

Marvin's voice took on a tone Oliver hadn't heard before; nostalgic. _Yeah, yeah. I forget exactly what we were doing up to that point, but I remember his name; Wolfgang LeStrange._

Oliver had to laugh, and he temporarily forgot his situation. _Bullshit._

Marvin laughed along with him. _I'm serious, man, that was his name. Granted, he chose it for himself when he busted out of the plantation he worked on, but still, that's the best name I've heard in a long while._

At that Oliver frowned, resting his hands on the table in front of him. _Wait, a plantation? In 1963?_

Marvin was silent for a second before he said. _Ah, no; 1863. Sorry, got'em mixed up._

Before Oliver could respond he heard the crowd outside stop and begin talking among themselves. A quick peak revealed that the Hunters, with Thalia at their head, were having what appeared to be a heated discussion with Chiron and who Oliver assumed were the various heads of the cabins, with a lot of hand waving and curses in Greek. Oliver licked his lips as he scrounged his bag for something. He didn't know what he was looking for, exactly, but he just _felt_ like he was missing something, something key. _Well, what'd he do?_

 _Well, we were holed up in this saloon, right? There was a posse right outside, yellin' and hollerin' about how they were gonna lynch him or whatever, and he gets this idea to stab a couple barrels of liquor and roll'em outside, before throwing a match onto the trail of alcohol they left. Those barrels lit up like the fourth of July, let me tell you, and he booked it while everyone was freaking out._

Oliver bit his lip as the argument outside died down. He didn't have much time. What was he looking for? The question nagged him. _Well, we don't have any barrels of liquor, so I don't know-_

And then, he found what he was looking for. A grenade, with a thick white band of paint near the top. He hefted the explosive device and a shaky plan formed in his mind. He carefully tucked it into his pocket, in easy reach, and he was about to sling his bag over his shoulder when the voice of Chiron came up from the crowd, "Mr. Irons! Please, let us be civilized about this."

Oliver glanced out the window and was more than a little shocked at the sight; the campers had all either sheathed their weapons or planted them in the ground. Even the Hunters held their bows at their sides, though he could see the murderous glare in each of their eyes even at twenty yards. Still, it was an improvement.

 _Oliie..._ Marvin warned, but the man was already nodding, "Yeah yeah, I know, but let's just here them out, alright? I have a plan."

The Fire thought for a few seconds, before asking. _What is it?_

Oliver told him his plan.

Marvin laughed. _Ballsy, I like it. Just don't screw it up._

Oliver nodded, checked all of his pockets one more time, recited the plan in his head, prayed he wouldn't have to use it and, steeling his nerves, walked down the stairs of the Big House. The old house seemed to creak under his bootfalls, the air seemed heavier, and only when he stepped out onto the porch of the building did he take a breath of clean air.

The crowd seemed surprised he appeared, and all the Hunters immediately narrowed their eyes at him, while Chiron attempted a peaceful smile and turned up his palms, "Thank you, Mr. Irons."

Oliver just nodded at the old man, shifting his gaze to the Lieutenant of the Hunters, "Hey, Thalia. Found me, huh?"

Thalia just glared at him some more, before shaking her head slightly, "We were dropping these two off," she jerked her thumb at the two kids from the clearing that started this whole shitshow, "so I guess the Fates are playing nice with me for once, making this hunt so much easier for me."

The centaur held his hand up and turned slightly to the Daughter of Zeus, "Come now, Thalia; we agreed to a diplomatic solution."

The Hunter just grit her teeth, "He let one of our own _die,_ Chiron! When the Manticore was attacking him and we intervened, when we saved his life, what did he do?" She jabbed a finger at Oliver, her face going slightly red, "He ran! He turned and ran like the coward he is! And one of our own died because of it."

The crowd immediately turned hostile, dirty looks and muttering going up all around. Chiron pursed his lips and turned to Oliver, his voice soft, "Is that true?"

Oliver looked around the crowd, at the Hunters, then back at Chiron. After a few moments of licking his lips he just gave a short, soft nod. No point in lying, he figured; this whole place was gonna hate him one way or another. He wrapped his fingers around the cool metal of the grenade in his pocket as Thalia nodded and held out her hand to Chiron, "See? Now, will you let us take him to Lady Artemis?"

"No."

The whole crowd, Chiron included, turned to Oliver, more than a little shocked. The thin man was standing tall, taller than most in the camp, and he was holding something in either hand. In one hand was a small metal tube that most recognized instantly as a grenade. In the other hand, though a little harder to spot, was the pin to that grenade. With more confidence than he felt he had, Oliver strolled down the stairs of the Big House, the campers parting around him like the Red Sea to Moses. Chiron seemed alarmed, and he desperately asked, "Oliver, what are you doing?"

Oliver just kept walking, heart thumping, only nodding towards the hill where the massive pine rested, "Leaving."

He heard arrows rubbing against bows and quickly said, "Oh, I wouldn't do that."

He could hear the glare in Thalia's voice, if that made any sense, "Oh?"

He just nodded and held up the grenade high above his head, secretly enjoying the way the demigods all flinched or cowered slightly, weapons now tight in their grip, "This is white phosphorus. In case you don't know what that is, it's napalm that looks and acts like smoke." He gestured at his hand holding down the striking lever on the grenade, "While my hand is holding down this lever, everything's fine. But if my hand leaves it..." He looked as many campers in the eyes as he could, slowly walking through the now clear area in front of the Big House.

After a few moments of the only sounds in the universe being Oliver's heartbeat and the distant chirping of ignorant sparrows, Thalia let out what sounded like a growl/sigh and put her bow down, "Stand down!"

Reluctantly, the Hunters lowered their weapons as Oliver slowly made his way across the flat, grassy area. Blood roared in his ears as he crested the hill, still pressing down on the lever of the regular, non-lethal smoke grenade, only relaxing when he stepped out onto the road. He tossed it into the forest, where it started to sputter out harmless, opaque smoke. He just stood there for a few minutes before Marvin broke the silence. _Holy shit, that worked?_

Oliver let out a shaky laugh. _I know, right?_

 _Well... what now?_

Oliver wasn't sure for a bit, until he reached into his pocket and felt a pair of keys. The gift from Hermes.

He pulled it out of his pocket and, without really thinking about it, pressed the 'unlock' button. A few feet to his right, the sudden sound of a car unlocking came out of nowhere, and he flinched , whipping around to the source of the sound.

 _Oh, hell yes._

Sitting on the side of the road, as though it had been parked there for ten minutes, was a black, 1969 Chevy Impala. Oliver looked at the car dumbly, then back at the keys in his hand, and couldn't stop the smile from sprouting across his face as he tossed his bag into the passenger seat and slid into the leather seats and felt the wood of the steering wheel. "Thank you, Hermes." He muttered to himself as he revved the engine, feeling the rumble like thunder under his feet.

And then he heard the hunting horn in the distance, a long, mournful note that carried across the distance like a dream. But, where he might have once felt fear, he just ran his hands across the wooden steering wheel and shifted the gears. On a whim he checked the glove compartment and couldn't keep the stupid grin off his face at the gold-rimmed aviators he found inside. Slipping them on, Oliver pulled out onto the road and revved the engine once more, muttering to himself again, "Thought I was a coward before, huh Thalia? Thought I was running, huh? Well," he shifted the Impala into high-gear, grinned one more time, and said, "you ain't seen nothin' yet."

He took off down the road, tires screeching, engine roaring, blood blazing in his veins.

Oliver never felt more alive.


	12. An Agreement, and a Payment

(Two chapters in two days? What? Anyway, I think the chapters from now on will be around two thousand words long. Maybe longer if it's a real crazy one, but I'd wager two thousand is probably gonna be the average. Hopefully, with these chapters being a little bit shorter, I'll be able to put one or two out every weekend? That's the dream, at least. It means the world to me that people actually like this weird little fan-fiction of mine. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter, it was pretty fun to write.)

-O-

Though Hermes's gift was a fantastic piece of machinery, it still needed fuel. So, after driving all night at near top speed Oliver found himself at a service stop somewhere in Pennsylvania. The sun was just starting to rise over the east, casting the forested landscape in warm light, and birds were just starting to come awake, chirping ignorantly. There weren't many cars on the road, so Oliver rested easily against the side of his car as he filled it, freshly rolled cigarette in his mouth, mug of espresso in his hand as he discussed with Marvin the plan.

 _So, San Francisco's the place to be, huh?_

 _Yeah, that's were the Roman's camp is. You'd like'em, they got the whole 'College town' vibe down to a T._

Oliver wasn't sure. _You sure they'd let me in? I'm not really a valid member._

Marvin just snorted. _If you told'em you were being chased by Greeks and knew where their camp was, approximate numbers, all that shit? They'd probably make you a Centurion on the spot._

Oliver let the thought hang in his head for a few seconds as he smoked, the nicotine calming his nerves. _Enemy of my enemy, huh?_

 _Exactly. There ain't that many people, mortal or otherwise, who hate Greeks more than Romans._

Oliver nodded, drinking some espresso. It was service station coffee, but it served it's purpose. _What about Arte-_

Marvin cut him off. _Don't say her name, man! Names have power, Oliver. C'mon, that is basic shit._

 _Hey, you said the names of Gods before._

 _Yeah, because those girl scouts were right on our ass and it didn't really matter if we recited the whole damn pantheon, we were screwed either way. Now, we are incognito, we got a head start on them and a nice-ass vehicle. It's time to start taking every single goddamn precaution we can think of._

 _Alright, alright, you've made your point. What do we do about The Huntress?_

Marvin was quiet for a few seconds. _I don't know. We sure as shit can't fight her, and we can't outrun her if she catches our scent. I say we just keep our head down, and pray to whatever god doesn't hate us._

Abruptly, another voice joined them in Oliver's head. But while Marvin's prescience was warm, pleasant like a campfire, this new voice was as cold and unfeeling as a marble statue, and it's mere presence gave Oliver what he could only describe as a migraine, sudden, cold pain erupting behind his eyes. _Oh, but you have been, child._

Oliver yelped and literally jumped into the air, and when his feet touched the ground he ripped his shotgun out from it's makeshift holster and started pointing it at wherever an odd noise appeared, his other hand holding tight onto his forehead to feebly try and smother the pain. _Who the fuck is that!_

Marvin let out a similar cry of alarm. _I don't know!_

As quickly as the pain came, it receded, and the new voice seemed to laugh softly. _I'm so sorry, Oliver Irons; I forget the affect my presence has on mortals who are unprepared._

Even though the voice was in his head, Oliver felt like the presence was somewhere in front of him, and when he looked to his right he found a sight waiting for him. A woman's face had arranged itself in the dirt on the side of the highway, a thin veil of dust over her face, her eyes closed as though she was having a pleasant dream, her mouth moving just barely as the voice in his head continued. _You are out of your depth, aren't you? A Goddess, her brother and all of the Olympian's spawn pining for your head? Not many have faced odds as high as these._

Oliver remained guarded. When dealing with Greek myths, the only times anyone helped anyone out for free was when they were trying to trick them or kill them. Or both. And he didn't like how she said 'the Olympian's spawn', like she was an outsider. _What do you want?_

The strange woman laughed. _You are wise to be cautious, Keeper of Fire, but please; I only want you to succeed on your journey._

Oliver, realizing he still had his shotgun pointed at the face in the ground, slowly lowered it and shoved it back into it's makeshift holster, cursing as he saw his spilled cup of coffee on the ground. _Yeah? Why's that?_

The face on the ground's lips twitched upward. _Come now, can't an old woman have her secrets? Besides, you don't have the time to listen; the riders will be here any second now._

Oliver frowned, a question on his lips, when Marvin cut in. _Pegasus, nine'o'clock!_

Oliver whirled in the direction and, sure enough, coming over the landscape, their backs lit up by the rising sun, were three massive winged shapes, approaching at a speed that shouldn't be possible for a living creature. Oliver swore and spat out his cigarette onto the ground, quickly taking the nozzle out of his car and slamming it back into place. The woman mused as Oliver got into his car and started the engine. _The earth is my domain, child; seek assistance in it, and you shall find it._

The mortal noted the cryptic message in the back of his mind, shifted his car into gear and took of tearing down the highway, the squeal of his tires filling the small area of the service station. He risked a glance in his rearview mirror, only for a gleaming, dull-silver missile to smash into the piece of glass and shatter it. Oliver swore and swerved as more arrows and light javelins started pelting the roof and sides of his car, not quite packing enough force to punch through the chassis. _How did they find us?_

 _Worry about that later! Focus on driving._

Oliver did as he was told as a particularly nasty javelin punched through the hood of the Impala, and a very worrying whine began to fill the cabin of the machine. _Do you have anything that can help?_

 _Let me think! It's been a really long goddamn time._

Oliver bit his lip and drove, pushing down the pedal as far as he could, the speedometer steadily climbing. Seventy, seventy-five, eighty, eighty-five., faster and faster he rode, the landscape around him a green-brown blur of motion, the rode beneath his tires a gray streak. Suddenly, the missiles stopped raining down and a loud, heavy something crashed onto the roof of the car. Oliver glanced up and was only mildly surprised to see a set of hoof-prints indented into the metal. A brief moment of calm filled the chaos, before metal screeched against metal and a gleaming, steel sword punched through the roof of the Impala, only missing Oliver by inched. Acting more on instinct than anything, the mortal ripped the Skeleton Key free from it's holster, pressed the barrel against the roof of the car and fired both barrels. Immediately he regretted his decision to fire a shotgun so close to his head when his ears began screaming with pain, deafening him and rendering his world a chaotic, ringing blur of motion.

He felt the shotgun fall from his hand as his wrist erupted in searing, cold heat, felt the weight of the Pegasus leave the roof of his car, and had to use every once of willpower and concentration he possessed just to keep his Impala from flying off the highway at a hundred per hour. He kept driving, the missiles resuming their rain of steel. Eventually, he heard Marvin's voice in his head as the world slowly stopped ringing.

 _-unnel, next right!_

He shifted his gaze and, sure enough, there was a tunnel burrowing under a small hill, only a few hundred feet ahead. He licked his lips, nodded, and pulled hard right as the roads diverged, fighting to stay in his seat from the force the car was pulling, tires squealing. At least, that's what he tried to do. In reality, as he went to grab the wheel with his right hand, he found it unresponsive and had the feeling of a thousand tiny red-hot pins and needles in his wrist. A quick glance revealed that his hand was hanging at a limp, unnatural angle.

But, he didn't have time to say, do or think anything. Because at that moment, his Impala crashed into the road divider at one hundred and twenty miles per hour. Steel was ripped and bent like warm plastic, glass shattered, bones snapped, and Oliver was sent through the air, the sickening feeling of weightlessness lasting only for a second before he crashed back to earth, out cold in an instant.

Oliver came to a few seconds or a few decades later. He couldn't really tell. His whole body felt like it had been crushed, burned and then thrown into the coldest depths of the arctic. He was face-down on the ground, but when he tried to lift his head up it seemed to be stuck on the asphalt, and that side of his face screamed with pain and he was forced to stop. He swallowed to wet his throat, but when he tried to open his eyes it was like someone had poured broken glass in between his eyelashes and he could only barely crack them open.

Two dark figures stood over him, two larger, Pegasus shaped figures a little ways behind them, next to the wreckage of the Impala. Oliver felt his heart drop at the sight for some reason. He really liked that car. Oliver became aware that someone was talking to him, but his ears were ringing. How did that work? He couldn't hear a damn thing, but someone seemed to be calling out his name, in the back of his mind.

 _-ilver! Come on man, this is the stupidest goddamn way to go out! Wake up!_

Oliver's response was slow. _I'm awake, Mrs. Killroy, just let me rest my eyes._

The other voice just laughed with joy and relief. _Sorry man, gotta get up._

Oliver groaned and made to get up, but once again his face, which was half-skinned and stuck to the asphalt, proved impossible to remove. He felt the blood run down his forehead, and he had to blink until his eyes were clear enough to see the two Pegasus riders. He asked the voice, Marvin. _What're they saying?_

Marvin was quiet for a few seconds as the two demigods discussed something that was lost to the dull ringing in Oliver's ears. _Something about how they're gonna carry your body back to Camp. It's hard to tell exactly, I'm in the same boat you are._

If Oliver could scrunch his eyebrows together he would have. _What do you mean?_

 _I see and hear with your eyes and ears, Oliver. Granted, I do it a helluva lot better than you, but I still need something to work with._

 _Fair enough._

Oliver made one last attempt to rise, but this time he was a little successful. In that he managed to tear a not-inconsiderable amount of skin from the left side of his face with a sickening sound akin to the peeling of tape. Cold, searing pain erupted from that side of his face, and he couldn't hold back a wet, pained yell, which quickly devolved into short, bloody coughs.

The two demigods ceased conversation and looked over at the broken, bloody man on the road, seemingly marveled that he was even alive. One of them, a boy no older than sixteen, walked over to Oliver and crouched down, looking at him up and down with a sneer on his face. He started to say something, but Oliver could only make out the sounds and not the words themselves. At the end of his apparent monologue or rant or whatever, the demigod drew the short sword at his hip, and Oliver got a good look at it. It was pretty roughly made, with only a basic handle and pommel, and the demigod didn't seem very comfortable wielding it in his hand. Oliver wondered for a moment why they would be using such inferior weapons when it hit him; he was mortal. None of their normal weapons would kill him, so they've started making weapons specifically to kill him. He almost felt honored, aside from the fact that he was about to be gutted by some sixteen year old on the side of the road in the middle of Nowhere, Pennsylvania.

But, as the kid was about to bring the point down, something... strange happened. The other kid, a girl who looked a bit younger, was suddenly ripped downward into the ground, and she only managed to let out a brief scream before she was completely consumed by the earth. The demigod above Oliver whirled around at the sound and witnessed the same thing happen to one of the Pegasi, the beast screaming in terror as it too was buried in the asphalt. The other Pegasus, possessing quicker reaction time than it's brother, managed to lift a few feet into the air with it's great wings, only narrowly escaping the sinkhole that opened up beneath it. Unfortunately, it wasn't fast enough. When it was about five feet about the ground, a sharpened pillar of asphalt erupted from the highway and skewered the poor beast through the chest. Two more spears of stone impaled the animal before it was slowly absorbed back into the earth, just like the other two victims.

The last demigod standing, sensing that he was out of his league, turned and started to sprint away from the tunnel, only for his feet to sink into the earth like it was mud. Trapped, the earth began climbing up his legs, then his chest, then up his neck and down his arms until he was completely covered, struggling the whole time. He kept moving for a few more seconds until the clay-like earth hardened around him. Where there was once a living, breathing half-god was now a perfect statue of a terrified teenager, eyes wide, mouth open in a silent scream.

The whole series of events took only a few seconds.

The world was silent for what felt like a hundred years. Oliver's ears stopped ringing, and the only sounds were the chirping of birds and the blood roaring in his ears. Then, soft footfalls began approaching him from the tunnel. The figure came around in front of him, but Oliver was only able to see a pair of dirt covered, bare feet and a dress made of what seemed like dust. Cool, soft hands took his head and, without much effort, peeled his head off of the concrete, the pain now dulled somehow. Oliver looked up, only to see that sleeping, half-smiling face, only to hear that voice from before creep back into his mind, as cold as the asphalt beneath his skin.

 _Oh no, you cannot die yet. You have yet to complete your journey._

With that, the woman pressed her finger against Oliver's forehead and he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.


	13. Of Guns and Guile

(Okay, so after some technical issues, here we are. And, just as a side note, if any of you have any questions whatsoever regarding either this story or anything else I may work on, don't hesitate to ask it. I've seen that a lot with a bunch of other authors on this site, so I thought I may as well join in. Anyway, enjoy, and sorry for the delay again.)

-O-

For the first few seconds of his renewed consciousnesses, Oliver felt only cold, searing pain across his whole body, especially on the left side of his face. Then his eyes opened, he took a deep breath, and the pain faded. He was in the front seat of his Impala, parked in front of an old, rundown gas station that looked like the setting to an indie horror film. The sun was just beginning to rise in the east to his back, and for a moment he forgot where he was, what he was doing. Who he was running from.

 _Good morning._ Said the voice inside his head.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes, wincing as his knuckles grazed the now-sensitive skin on the side of his face. _Hey. What-?_

 _The dirt lady picked us up, did some magic and now we're here. I'm not sure exactly what it was she did; magic was never my strong suit and I couldn't see. She fixed the car though, so that's nice._

Oliver reached up and pulled down the sun visor of the car, flipping open the small mirror inside of it. His visage glowered back at him, and he was taken aback for a moment. The left side of his face was rendered a skeletal shadow of it's former self. The new, magically applied skin clung tightly to the bones of his cheek and jawline, curling up around his eye socket and stopping just short of his temple. He simply looked at himself for a long moment before solemnly shutting the sun visor with a soft click.

 _Well, at least no one's gonna bother us on the street anymore._

Oliver could only muster a snort as he glanced around the rest of the interior of the Impala. Everything was pretty much the same, though he noted with more than a little degree of panic that his duffel bag was not in the passenger seat. In it's place was a small, sealed envelope with the words 'Oliver Irons' written on the front in fine, cursive print. He picked it up and, after a moment of hesitation, ripped it open and pulled out the small note tucked inside; " _I hope the selection is up to your standards. -Your Benefactor."_ Oliver frowned and, after a bit more inspection, discovered a key tucked away inside the envelope as well.

 _What does that mean?_

Oliver pondered the question in his mind before the answer smacked him in the face. _We never checked the trunk, did we?_

Oliver stepped outside and took a breath of fresh morning air, the secluded gas station looming in front of him, a dark forest surrounding him on all sides, a road running through it all on his left.

"Always a damn forest." He grumbled before walking around the back of the Impala, key in his hand. He popped open the trunk and heaved it upward, the steel cool under his hands. Marvin beat him to the punch.

 _Holy shit._

Oliver could give a short snort in response at the sight that greeted him inside the back of the Impala.

Weapons. Lots of weapons. Attached to the bottom of the trunk were side arms and smaller SMGs, along with knives of various lengths, all set into foam and held in place with what appeared to be special holsters. He spotted a .38 handgun that could fit into his palm, with a special rig around it consisting of a series of pulleys and thin metal piping. He recognized the setup from his home's old armory; one moment you were completely helpless then, with a flick of the wrist, you were dangerous.

Oliver ran his eyes across the bottom of the trunk, at the fairly wide selection of rifles and shotguns, until he came upon the biggest weapon in the trunk, and he couldn't keep a grin from spreading across his face. On the far right side of the container, resting against the wall of the trunk, was the unmistakable form of an M60, a 'Pig', as his father referred to it as. As Oliver admired the fine polished plastic, he was surprised to discover words scratched into the stock; 'I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow you to hell.' This wasn't just an M60. This was his grandfather's M60 from Vietnam, which should still be locked up in the armory in Vermont, underneath almost thirty feet of solid granite.

Oliver looked at the other weapons in his brand-new collection and, sure enough, each and every one of them bore some distinguishing mark that he recognized from his home. Also inside the trunk was a length of celestial bronze chain, a small shovel, a few boxes of ammunition and, most worrying of all, several blocks of C4 with a detonator resting on top of the heap. Oliver was suddenly aware of how much firepower was all at once at his fingertips. Enough to fight a small army. Enough for two more trips around America. Enough to fight a Goddess, and as many girl scouts as she cared to bring with her.

He shook his head and was about to close the trunk door when a smooth, dark red shape caught his eye. Reaching over to take it in his hands, he felt the smooth, cool wood of the box, resting in it's own special alcove in the back of the trunk. He didn't recognize the box, but as he ran another hand across the surface he felt an odd sensation in the back of his skull, some faint feeling of nostalgia or deja vu he couldn't place. Then it passed, and Oliver opened the box. Inside was the most beautiful weapon he's ever seen.

It was a Colt Peacemaker, .45 caliber. The barrel and receiver were a black, almost matt steel, while the grip was deep red mahogany wood, shining from the polish. Across the barrel of the gun in intricate gold engravings was what Oliver assumed was the name of the gun; 'The Equalizer.' Underneath the Equalizer in the box were six bullets sticking down into the foam interior of the casing, their brass coats winking back at him. He plucked one of the bullets from it's home and blinked in surprise. The bullet tip, instead of the familiar bronze he had come to associate with most of his weapons, was a deep, black metal that seemed to suck in the light around it. He felt a chill run through him as Marvin sucked in a breath. _Oh, damn._

 _What?_

 _That's Stygian Iron._

 _Okay?_

 _Look, I'm gonna make this real simple; if you shoot something with that bullet, it'll kill it's soul._

Oliver blinked and slowly placed it back in the foam. _What?_

 _You heard me. Stygian Iron is made in the Underworld, cooled in the River Styx. I've heard that just one touch is enough to absorb and totally destroy a monster's soul._

Oliver looked at the Equalizer with newfound fear, suddenly, vividly and acutely aware of the power this single action revolver possessed. Then, a question formed in Oliver's mind.

 _Hey, Marv, tell me somethin', will you?_

 _Yeah?_

Oliver carefully packed away the gun case into it's special alcove. _You said that Stygian Iron destroys a monster's soul, right?_

Marvin's answer was slow. _Yeah, so?_

 _What about a god's soul?_

Marvin was quiet for several long seconds, before he spoke in a warning tone. _Oliver-_

The Keeper cut him off. _I know, I know, but I'm just... curious, okay? I'm not gonna go up to Olympus and start cappin' immortals._

Marvin just sighed. _Look, I don't know what would happen. Maybe you'd kill'em, maybe you'd hurt'em, maybe nothin' would happen and then you'd be dust._

Before Oliver shut the trunk he plucked the .38 handgun rig from the top of the trunk and a few magazines, tucking it underneath his arm before shutting the trunk door with a thud. Back in the driver's seat he started fiddling with the rig, taking off his jacket and attaching it to his left arm.

After a few minutes of relative silence, Oliver decided to ask something that has been in the back of his mind since he woke up. _So… who was that dirt lady, anyway?_

Marvin's answer was straightforward. _That, Oliver Irons, was Gaea. Goddess of the Earth, Mother of Giants and Titans and all sorts of crazy shit._

The name was vaguely familiar to Oliver, but he couldn't quite place it. _Mother of Titans, huh? So, she's a friend?_

' _Friend' is a bit too strong of a word, but no, she doesn't want to kill us. She definitely would've done it already if she did, but… be careful, eh? She ain't really one of them nice nature goddesses, like Freya. She's fine as hell, by the way, in case you wanted to know._

Oliver tightened the final strap of the rig and gave it a tentative flick. The palm-sized .38 launched forward into his hand like a dream, feeling the synthetic grip in his fingers. _I didn't._

He reset the rig and slid his jacket back onto his shoulders, feeling a sudden a pang in his stomach. He slid the key into the Impala's slot and revved the engine. _Right, first things first I'm getting some food, and then we're gonna continue on our way. Okay?_

 _Go for it, just be quick about it; I'm still thinkin' about how those pegasus ridin' bastards managed to track us down._

Oliver pulled out of the gas station's parking lot and began to drive down the road, the engine growling under the hood, his stomach growling in tandem with it, drawing his mind away from the question. _We'll cross that bridge when we get there, huh?_

 **Later**

When Oliver pulled into _Moe's Diner,_ a little dive in the middle of a tiny Pennsylvania town that started with a 'K', he wasn't expecting much. He learned that he was in But, to his pleasant surprise, the interior of _Moe's_ was a nice, clean affair that somehow possessed that 50s charm, with the red seats, checkered tile floor and jukebox in one corner. There weren't many people inside, maybe two or three, which was fine by Oliver, and the waitress was easy on the eyes, which was even finer.

Oliver was eating a steak, his table at the back of the diner next to a window, while talking to Marvin in his head. The whole place was pretty quiet, with the only real sounds being the scrap of silverware on plates and the soft murmur of table talk. Outside, the street remained fairly quiet as well, despite the fact that it was almost noon. A van pulled into the parking lot outside, and Marvin abruptly went quiet in Oliver's head, a silent tone of warning in his voice. _Contact_

Oliver glanced outside at the now parked vehicle outside, watching as three figures, slightly obscured by the odd glass of the diner's windows, stepped out of it and made their way to the front door of the diner. Oliver continued to eat when the trio stepped inside, and he got his first good look at them. Two guys, one girl, all with athletic builds and dark hair, all armed. The girl was decidedly smaller than her two companions, height wise, and she had some kind of necklace around her neck that looked magically in nature, what with the soft whitish-blue glow that emanated from it. The first guy was bigger than the other two, almost the same height as Oliver, but with much broader shoulders and a square-shaped head, and he had a double-bladed axe strapped to his back. The last guy was the leader, no doubt. He had the same features you'd see in any action movie or story; perfect jaw, athletic-but-not-too-muscular build, sword at his hip.

The Leader had something in his hand, some kind of stone that was glowing a cool blue color. But, as he swept it over the diner, in Oliver's direction, it flashed a brilliant crimson, and the trio all looked at him, then at each other. The Leader nodded, pocketed the device, and lead the way to Oliver's table, who was still dutifully ignoring them and eating his steak. The Leader slid into the seat across from Oliver's and leaned forward on his elbows while the Big Man and the Girl stood over them, attempting to be intimidating. Oliver looked up and gave his best 'done with this shit' look he could muster, "Can I help you?" He asked, mouth still full of steak.

The Leader cocked an eyebrow and leaned backwards, a slight smirk crossing his face that made Oliver hate him instantly, "You're a real ballsy one, ain't you?"

Oliver just wiped his mouth with a napkin, "So I've been told," He glanced at the Leader's companions, "So, what is it that you want, anyway?"

The Leader just gave him a grin that made his teeth gleam, "Well, Chiron's official orders were to bring you in alive, but," he leaned in a little further, "since you threatened the place I love with a godsdamn grenade, and killed a few of our siblings yesterday, I think you'll have a little accident on the way back to camp."

At that, the Girl protested, "Bell, I don't think-"

The Leader, apparently named Bell, just shushed her with one hand, eyes still locked on Oliver, "Now now, Julie, I got this," he grinned again at Oliver, "So, what do you say, mortal? Wanna make this easy for me?"

Oliver just looked at the man, probably a little younger than himself. Looked at his plastered-on smile, at the look of malice in his eyes. He was going to kill him if he went along with this, Oliver knew. Bell knew he knew. He wanted a fight, a battle, something to brag about when he got back to his stupid goddamn camp, something to sing about and proclaim, "I killed the man who threatened us! Praise me now!" He didn't want a peaceful resolution; he wanted this to end as bloody as possible.

Which is why he looked so surprised when Oliver held out his left hand, gave a smile and said, "Alright."

Bell was still absorbing the initial surprise of Oliver's compliance when the mortal flicked his wrist, launching the .38 forward into his palm. Still thinking of the possibilities of what he could do when he got back to camp even as Oliver raised the gun and cocked the hammer back. He only fully registered that he was in danger when Oliver squeezed the trigger, when the lightning-loud crack of ignition chemicals ripped through the air, when the bullet was already tearing a hole into his chest. Bell looked down numbly at the scarlet blossoming across his chest, looked back up to Oliver, to the gun in his hand, then back down to his chest again before he slumped over in his chair, falling to the ground like a bag of potatoes.

Time did not slow down, contrary to popular belief in these types of situations. If anything, the next few seconds were a blur of motion, reaction, sounds and sensations that Oliver couldn't even fully process. He remembered pivoting around in his seat to turn the gun on the Big Man when a massive, forceful wave of _something_ crashed into him from the side, launching him back. After that his vision was reduced to a shimmering, brilliant orchestra of crimson fires, all proposing near-future dangers. His instincts acted on their own accord. Up they heaved him, to the sides they made him dodge, up they made him aim and true they made him shoot. Before he could fully comprehend what had just happened, the Big Man had two bullet holes in either leg, writhing on the floor, and Oliver had his forearm pressed against the Girl's throat, .38 pressed into her chest. At some point, probably when the first shot rang out, the diner's occupants had all fled.

Oliver blinked, looking into the Girl's panicked eyes and clearing his throat, keeping an ear perked up for any sirens in the distance, "How'd you find me?"

The Girl sputtered out, "Some o-o-of the Hecate kids managed t-to make these kind of m-magic trackers, and you ha-had the hottest signature in a hundred miles."

Marvin spoke up for the first time in a while in the back of Oliver's mind. _Well, that answers that._

Oliver only hummed in response, before another question popped into his mind; one that could potentially change the whole journey, "This was technically a quest, right?"

The Girl looked confused, "Yeah, w-why?"

"Well, don't quests usually have prophecies or some shit?"

The Girl's eyes widened, and she briefly attempted to escape his grip before Oliver pressed the now hot barrel of the .38 into her torso. Oliver looked at her and spat out, "Well?"

She squirmed underneath the heat of the metal for a bit before she gasped out, "Fine, fine, just get that off me!"

Oliver complied, but kept his forearm against her throat to pin her in place. Now he could hear the distance wailing of sirens, and he made a gesture like 'Hurry up' with his .38. The Girl took a deep breath, sighed, and then recited;

" _The Keeper heads west with the Titan's Boon,_

 _Through the bane of man his tragedy's hewn,_

 _The once-slain pawn, burning blind and bright,_

 _Brings the illusion to an end with a final fight."_

Oliver blinked. Before he could get off another question, Marvin spoke with urgency in the back of his mind. _C'mon, we'll decipher it later!_

Oliver could only agree. He shoved the girl back, resetting the .38 in it's rig, and made to leave the diner, but stopping at the door and glancing back at her to say, "Sorry, by the way. For everything."

He wasn't sure why he said that to her, but it made him feel a little better. Without waiting to hear her response, and with the sirens closing in, Oliver hopped into his Impala, revved the engine, and tore off down the road, heading west.


	14. Heroes

-O-

The last few days of Oliver's journey had been quiet. Much too quiet for his liking. He has been driving for the better part of two days, watching the American landscape go by him in hues of brown and green. in that time, and was currently refueling his Impala for what he believed to be the final stretch of the journey, at a rest stop somewhere in Nevada. He found his gold-rimmed aviators in the glove compartment, giving a little 'Ha!' of triumph as he slid them onto his nose. Then promptly took them off because it was dark out, feeling foolish. A cigarette hung loose in his mouth, a little bead of red-hot in the darkness of the desert, and he subconsciously rubbed the left side of his face, the skin still a little sensitive, clinging to his cheekbone. Though he hasn't had any direct confrontations since the incident at the diner, he has occasionally spotted a massive, black shape moving across the sky, the unmistakable shape of a Pegasus. A problem, to be sure, but nothing Oliver couldn't handle. But, even as he deliberately distracted himself with the memories of the past few days, his mind was invariably drawn back to one like a moth to a flame.

The prophecy from the diner.

The soft, desert insects chirped and hissed all around hit. The vast emptiness of it all still surprising Oliver even though he had been driving through it for hours on end, staring out into that blank, brown expanse.

 _"The Keeper heads west with the Titan's Boon,"_

Obviously referring to him and Marvin, and their journey across the US.

 _"Through the bane of man his tragedy's hewn,"_

Ink black clouds roiled across the sky, shrouding the numerous Nevada stars and moon, casting the desert in almost-complete shadow. That was the part the really troubled Oliver. The bane of man? When he and Marvin had discussed it, the ancient Fire had only mentally shrugged. _I dunno, man, that could be a lot of things. Typhoon was like ancient Greek Godzilla, so obviously he was a pretty rough customer. Only problem, he was trapped in Tarturus back in the Second Titan War. Unless there's some SERIOUS shit goin' down we don't know about, I doubt that he's our 'bane of man'. Everything else is either stretching the term 'man' to mean the gender. Empousa, for example, have a tendency to either seduce or trick men into getting eaten, so do sirens. Artemis, too, could fall into that category, I suppose. But she just doesn't really like men; she isn't, like, hunting them for sport._

Oliver just gave a short chuckle as he ashed his cigarette and watched a few trucks go by. _I have a weird feeling she'd make an exception for me, huh?_

 _Fair point._

It wasn't that first part that really bothered Oliver, though. He didn't really care about what the bane of man was. It was the second part that made his already-restless sleep almost impossible.

 _"his tragedy's hewn,"_

What tragedy? Though he didn't want to admit or think about it, Oliver was acutely aware of how most Greek tragedies ended; violently.

He shook his head at the thought, telling himself to stop worrying so much. Prophecies were meant to be misdirecting and weird as hell; it might not even be talking about Oliver. Even as he thought it he knew it was a stretch, but he clung to that hope like a raft. It was all he really had. Aside from the guns, of course. He didn't really pay much attention to the last two lines of the prophecy, as they didn't seem to have much to do with anything at all. At least, when concerning Oliver. Selfish? A little, but Oliver didn't feel like worrying about things he didn't need to worry about.

He had enough as it was.

The gas pump beeping to indicate it was finished snapped him out of his thoughts, and he moved around his Impala to pay. Just as he set the gas nozzle back in it's place, however, Marvin spoke up in the back of his mind. _Seven'o'clock. I think that Pegasus rider grew some balls, 'cause he's coming in hot._

Oliver turned and, with a thought, activated his pseudo-thermal vision. The desert landscape was suddenly awash in a cascade of blues and greens, the void of the night sky opening up above him like the maw of some immense, immeasurably massive leviathan. A single large, red blur came across the horizon, contrasting starkly with the rest of the picture. And it was flying. Fast. Oliver grimaced and spat out the cigarette, turning off his thermal vision and rushing to his trunk, popping it open. Quickly snatching an AA-12 from it's resting place and shoving a few drum magazines into his arms, he slammed the trunk shut and ran around to the driver's seat. While he wasn't particularly afraid of this new enemy, he didn't feel like explaining to the gas station owner why he was firing off an automatic shotgun at- a quick glance at the clock in the console of the Impala-one in the morning.

So he grabbed the wheel, jerked the gear into place and peeled off into the desert. The Impala clearly had some kind of modified suspension; Oliver barely felt the rough desert ground as he gained ground on his pursuer, crushing cacti and shrubs under it's weight. Oliver stopped to the side of a kind of clearing, a circle of sand and dirt devoid of any plants or obstructions. Satisfied with the location, Oliver clambered out of the Impala, AA-12 in his arms, magazines in his jacket. He asked Marvin. _ETA?_

 _Ten minutes? Not sure how fast those things can fly, but we're way out in the dicks here._

Oliver nodded, and licked his lips involuntarily. The desert was dry, and surprisingly cold at this time of night, and he had to zip up his jacket to the throat. He glanced back at his Impala's trunk, thinking. _So, think this guy's some kind of hero?_

 _Technically all the demigods are heroes._

 _You know what I mean._

 _Yeah, I know. Why do you ask?_

 _Well, he came out here alone when teams of three have been proven not to be sufficient. Maybe this guy is their big badass swordsman dude, or whatever the hell they call him?_

Marvin mused it over. _Well, I was hearing stories about some guy called Percy Jackson coming through the grapevine a few years back. Did all kinds of crazy shit. Fought the Minotaur when he was twelve, found the golden fleece, that kinda thing. Apparently defeated Kronos in single combat, too. Could be our newcomer._

Though the name was vaguely familiar for some reason, Oliver nodded, mind made up, and he walked over to the trunk of his Impala, popping it open. _Then why don't we stack the odds a bit?_

With that, Oliver grabbed a few blocks of C4, the detonator, and the shovel from the trunk before closing it with a resounding slam. And he went to work.

Ten minutes and seven blocks of C4 later, Oliver was leaning against his Impala, AA-12 in his arms, cigarette in his mouth. A waiting warrior. The seven blocks of explosives were buried in a half-circle pattern across the opposite side Oliver stood on, the slight disturbances almost invisible under the low-light of night. He could feel the detonator in his pocket as the Pegasus-a black one, Oliver noted-landed directly opposite to his car, and it's rider climbed down. The clouds rolled through the sky like liquid, and the moon peaked through to look at the scene unfolding beneath her watch, bathing the clearing in soft, sliver light. It was the guy from the camp, Oliver realized, who saved him from that blonde chick. He thought his name was-

"Percy Jackson," Oliver said, his voice much calmer than his nerves, "fancy seeing you here."

Percy didn't smile though, and he fidgeted with the sword at his waist, unfamiliar with the hilt. He turned and glanced at his Pegasus, "Go on, Blackjack. I'll call you when this is over."

The magical horse neighed once before kicking off into the air, beating it's massive wings until it blended into the night sky, and Oliver lost it. There was silence for a few seconds, when the only sound in the clearing was the soft chirping of insects and the cold wind on the air. Something rustled in the brush to Oliver's right, but he didn't take his eyes off the demigod across from him.

"We can't talk about this?" The mortal asked, lips pressed tightly together as he fingered the safety on his shotgun, the stainless steel cold in his grip.

The Demigod just shook solemnly his head, hand resting on his sword, "You've killed at least four of our campers in the last week," though the look didn't suit him, Percy grimaced, "I've been sent to bring you in for trial in front of the Olympian Council."

Marvin snorted humorlessly. _Of course; Olympians love their goddamn trials._

 _Not now, Marvin._

Oliver's voice was as dry as the wind, his cigarette casting his half-skeletal face in warm orange light, "Funny how none of the Council actually bothered to come down and get me themselves."

Distantly, the sky rumbled as though in warning, and Percy replied, "Actually, Artemis is on her way as we speak," his tone changed, to one of warning, "and she isn't very happy with you."

Oliver caught the silent message in the half-blood's voice; go with Percy and face trial, to have a chance. Or have Artemis decide what to do with him herself. He could even see the odd look in Percy's eye, a look of 'Please, just do the right thing' that permeated in his sea-green eyes.

But Oliver just thought about his mission, his duty; Protect the Fire, protect Marvin. That was what his family had been doing for hundreds of years, what Prometheus trusted them to do. And Oliver had no idea what the Olympians would do to him if they captured Marvin; maybe Zeus would throw him away into some Godly trash heap and forget about him, or maybe Hecate and Hephaestus would conduct experiments, to test the limits of his power. Or, worst of all, maybe Zeus would just crush the pendant around Oliver's neck without a second thought, and forget about them both in a matter of days. No matter which among these were the least and most possible, Oliver had zero intention of discovering the true outcome.

Marvin's voice was different, now. Softer than Oliver had ever heard it. _You know what'll happen if you resist this and fail, right?_

 _Yeah, I know._

The Fire was silent for a long, quiet moment. _Do you really want to spend the rest of time in the Fields of Punishment, Oliver? Over me?_

Oliver just gave a shallow, humorless grin that looked quite frightening with his almost-skeletal face. _I'm a solider, Marv. And I've got my orders._

So, with a final drag of his cigarette, Oliver breathed out a small cloud of smoke that was immediately whisked away in the wind.

He flicked it to the ground and readjusted his arms around the shotgun in his hands, "I don't wanna hurt you, demigod," Oliver said as he racked back the bolt of the shotgun, his voice lowering slightly, "but I will defend myself."

Percy sighed and drew his sword with the soft sound of steel against leather, and Oliver couldn't help but notice how uncomfortable it looked in his hand, "I know you will."

The clouds rolled across the night sky, smothering the moon's soft illumination and shrouding the clearing in darkness, with only the barest glimmer of steel visible of Percy's form. All the night animals and insects around them had gone silent, and the wind had died down, like the whole world was holding it's breath. Oliver remembered his father, talking about how the worst part of a firefight is the silence in between the bedlam of smoke and fire and death. When everyone was glued to their own little piece of cover, blood roaring in their ears, throat dry. And when it finally started again, his father would say, I was almost glad for the noise.

Oliver made the first move, whipping his shotgun up and firing off a quick burst of shells at Percy's chest, hoping to end the fight as quickly as possible. To the mortal's eternal surprise, however, instead of being blasted backwards and killed, the bronze pellets just seemed to bounce off the demigod's skin with a soft ping. Before Oliver could fully register that, though, his vision lit up in orange flames, and Percy's blade came swinging down from the right in a blur of reddish-orange motion, forcing Oliver down on one knee to dodge. As the blade whistled over his head, Oliver pointed the barrel of the AA-12 right at Percy's sternum and fired another burst of shells. This time, the power of the weapon was enough to launch the demigod back several feet through the air, catching his balance and skidding to a stop in the sand. Still though, he appeared unhurt as he brushed off the front of his shirt.

Marvin barely hesitated, and he sounded almost in awe. _The Curse of Achilles. I've only seen it in action once before, during the Battle of Thermopylae._

Before Oliver could ask what that meant, Percy came at him again, sword point buried in the dirt. Oliver lifted his gun to fire another burst, but Percy flicked his sword upwards, filling the narrow space between them with sand. Oliver, caught completely off guard with sand in his eyes, flinched backwards and was forced to squeeze his eyes shut. Lucky for him, his visions didn't require eyesight, as his world was suddenly entirely comprised of fire and motion. The sword almost seemed to hum as it cut through the air, and Oliver only barely managed to bring his AA-12 up to block it, steel ringing out against steel, taking a subconscious step backwards as he did so. Percy was fast, faster than anything Oliver had dealt with before, a blur of gray motion. Even with his precognitive abilities Oliver only barely managed to defend himself against the assault, almost buckling underneath every attack from the raw strength the demigod seemed to posses. Even then, a few cuts and gashes began to sting against Oliver's skin, most notably one particularly painful one on his chest that sliced clean through the leather. Without those powers, he reflected, I'd be dead about six times over.

It was only after three minutes of tense, near-silent combat that Oliver managed to gain some kind of advantage. Percy dropped low to the ground and spun on his heel, and was about to bring his blade up in a rising cut when Oliver, seeing the move before it actually happened, stomped down on the flat of the blade, pressing it into the sand and dirt. In the same motion he leveled the barrel of his shotgun directly in front of Percy's face and pulled the trigger once. Even though the demigod appeared to be indestructible, he still fell backwards and let go of his sword, hands over his eyes from what Oliver could only assume was the bright muzzle flash of the gun. As he picked up and threw Percy's sword out into the desert as far he could, Oliver realized something.

 _He still needs to see. And if he still needs to see..._

Oliver dropped the magazine out of his shotgun and slammed a fresh one home as Percy started to regain his footing, blinking furiously to clear his eyes. The Keeper didn't let him breath, though, and shot him in the face again, sending him back to the ground, flat on his back. Oliver then walked forward, shoved the barrel of his AA-12 right next to Percy's ear and muttered, "Sorry 'bout this," and pulled the trigger.

The effect was immediate; the Demigod spasamed on the ground in pain at the thunderous crack of a gunshot so close to his ear, and Oliver felt a pang of sympathetic pain in his own ear. Then it passed and he fired another round next to Percy's other ear, and he was no longer in any shape to fight. Blinded and deafened, Percy Jackson was almost completely disabled. For the time being, at least.

Oliver sighed and stood up, considering the fighter on the ground in front of him. He decided to consult Marvin.

 _What now?_

Marvin sounded unsure. _I dunno, man. I think we need to get outta dodge as soon as possible. We only got one more state to cross before we're home free._

Oliver, while he agreed with the statement, bit his lip as he glanced at Percy out of the corner of his eye, who was already stirring on the ground and blinking the lights out of his eyes. As the half-dozen or so painful cuts throbbed all over his body, Oliver licked his dry lips. _Yeah, but I don't want him on our ass on the way. Can't they heal really quick with that one thing? Amb-something?_

 _Ambrosia, yeah, nectar too. I see your point, Ollie, but I'm not sure how we can incapacitate him in a more permanent sense, unless you just wanna spray him down with buckshot until we find his weakspot._

Oliver just shook his head and thought, thumbing the safety on and off as he pondered a question. Then, it hit him. _The Nemean Lion was indestructible, right?_

The Fire was confused. _Yeah?_

 _How'd Hercules kill it?_

Marvin sounded surprised. _He throttled it, why?_

Oliver, his suspicion confirmed, just nodded to himself and, with one last glance at Percy's discombobulated form, strode back to his Impala's trunk, his long legs making the trip in a few steps. He hung up his AA-12 and, with a grim look on his face, picked up the length of celestial bronze chain on the floor of the trunk.

Marvin protested as he began walking over to Percy. _Woah, woah man, let's think this through, eh?_

Oliver just replied. _I'm just gonna choke him unconscious, alright? You really want him on our tail, along with Ar- The Hunter?_

Marvin just sighed. _Alright, fine. Go for it, but we're outta here as soon as he goes limp, right?_

The Keeper nodded silently and looped the chain around the Demigod's throat, crossing the two ends and pulling them apart to tighten it around his neck disturbingly like a noose. Percy, either regaining his senses or feeling the cold metal on his skin, tried to rise to his feet, hands flat on the dirt. Oliver, not really thinking about it, placed his boot against the small of the half-blood's back and forced him back to the ground. To Oliver's mild surprise, he went down fairly easily and Oliver, his mouth set in a grim line, yanked back the two ends of the chains, choking the Son of Poseidon out. For a while, he struggled against the force of the chain, hands desperately trying to pry it away. But after a minute or two, unable to overpower Oliver mostly from the sheer leverage the mortal had, he began to fade, hands slowly going slack on the metal.

Then, Oliver's vision lit up into harsh orange flames, and his field of view was suddenly expanded to 360 degrees, and he saw an arrow flying towards him from behind. Without hesitation, Oliver let go of the chains in his hands and rolled to the side, the arrow whistling above his head and missing him by a few inches. In the same motion as he was standing up, Oliver drew his USP Match and brought the gun up to meet the new opponent, finger on the trigger.

But the sight made his blood run cold in his veins.

A girl, maybe a little younger than Percy, stood at the edge of the clearing, auburn hair tied back in a pony-tail, silver bow in her hand, another arrow already drawn. She was dressed like most of the Hunters Oliver had encountered, with a sliver parka, black leggings and boots. But it was her eyes that made Oliver's blood freeze; they were as cold and silvery-yellow as a full winter moon. They seemed to skin Oliver's soul, gut it and then inspect the entrails, only to find nothing of intrigue or interest.

Artemis, Lady of the Moon and the Hunt, had found him.

And she didn't look happy.

(Alright boys and girls, we're almost there; the end of Act 3. Also, while this may not be how it works canonically, I chose to interrupt The Curse of Achilles as indestructible skin, rather than some kind of auto-dodge. So, while Percy couldn't be hurt by the gunfire, he was still affected by the kinetic energy the bullets possessed, like when he got hit into a wall by that one giant I forgot the name of. Now, I don't ask you guys to do stuff very often, but please tell me what you think is gonna happen next chapter. I'd love to hear what you guys think.)


	15. Fire

(An early chapter from CzarSoza? What has the world come to? Anyway, here we are; the end. First things first, thank you so much to everyone who has supported and read this little fanfiction of mine. I know this sounds cliche as all hell, but I honestly did not expect this to get very popular at all when I started writing this, and couldn't have done it without your awesome support. Now, let's get on with it.)

(Update: Didn't realize how big those blocks of text were during the fight, so I went back and broke'em up a bit. Kudos to the guest who pointed it out.)

-O-

The silence was starting to get on Oliver's nerves. The desert bugs and creatures, which had become a pleasant background noise as Oliver strangled a demigod, had fallen utterly silent at Artemis's arrival. The black clouds above them seemed to boil and roll around across the sky until finally clearing, finally freeing the rich, dark blue sky and all of it's stars to shine. The wind had risen to a soft, cold whisper that kissed the exposed skin of Oliver's neck and hands, chilling him to the bone. Oliver wanted to swallow, to blink and wet his eyes, adjust the gun in his hands to make it more comfortable. But those eyes, those silvery-yellow spotlights were trained on his every movement, hunting for weakness, arrow drawn back and ready to exploit it. Even though her weapons appeared to be made out of the same metal as the other Hunters, Oliver didn't want to take a chance with a Goddess.

So the two just stared each other down from the sights of their weapons for a few tense seconds, before Oliver cleared his throat and, without lowering his gun, said, "So, we meet at last, Lady Artemis."

The Hunter Goddess just looked at him up and down, sizing him up, unimpressed. Her voice was as cold as the wind as she said, "So, you're the mortal I've heard so much about. I expected... more."

Oliver just replied with a twitch of his lips, "You'd be surprised of what I'm capable of."

Wrong answer. Oliver remembered too late the Hunter he had left to die at the train station a lifetime ago, and he flinched subconsciously as Artemis narrowed her eyes at him and almost growled back, "Oh, I know exactly what you're capable of, boy."

She spat the last word as though it was the worst insult in the English language, and even though Oliver knew it was just her nature, it stung hearing it invoked with such hateful venom. He involuntarily took a step backwards, and Artemis took one forward, still keeping her arrow trained on his general torso-area. His eyes flicked downwards, at the C4 planted in the dirt, and mentally cursed when he saw that she was still outside the small clearing. As much as he loved his USP Match, he was almost positive it would have little to no effect on an angry hunter Goddess. Those explosive charges were the only things on-hand that might be effective against her, and even then he wasn't sure. The Pig would have to be loaded, belt-fed style, his other explosives were in the back of his trunk, and nothing else in there was packing enough stopping power to take down a Goddess. Actually, now that Oliver was taking a mental stock of his small arsenal, he realized there was something that could work. He had loaded the Equalizer full of it's special black bullets yesterday, and it was waiting in it's little box in the trunk, ready for action.

All Oliver had to do was get to the damn thing.

With the barest outline of a plan formed in his head, Oliver licked his dry lips and took a tentative step backwards. Artemis took another one forward, looking much more comfortable as she almost glided over the sand and dirt and small rocks at the edge of the clearing. The Goddess's eyes slowly went from Oliver's down to the pendant around his neck, and she gave the slightest frown possible, her eyes beginning to glow a hard silver gleam. A moment later Oliver felt a cold, prodding _something_ on the verge of his mind, probing it for weakness. Then, apparently finding one, it dove in. Oliver flinched as what felt like a rod of cold metal was plunged into his brain, driving a spike of searing cold into his frontal lobe like a brain freeze magnified a thousand times. After an instant of it's insertion, Marvin growled in the back of his mind. _Oh, hell no._

With what could only be described as a flex of magical power, the spike of cold was shoved back by a wave of hot that continued to surge onward, even after the spike had been driven off. The wave focused into an intense, invisible beam and raced along the spike's own path, hitting the Goddess right back. She gave a small gasp and stumbled back a step as though she had been punched in the chest by Mike Tyson. She whipped her head up at Oliver and, for the briefest of instants, looked genuinely surprised, shocked and... scared? No, no he was imagining it, because in the next instant she was scowling, eyes harder and brighter than before as she asked, "What are you?"

As Oliver opened his mouth to respond, the Goddess snapped at him, "Not you, boy," she lowered her arrow down to the pendant at Oliver's throat, which had begun glowing a harsh red through Marvin's power, "that."

Marvin just grumbled. _Typical. Gods are never respectful, not even to their elders._

Oliver chose to ignore the comment, though he saved to question it later, and stepped backwards, saying as he did so, "Oh, him? That's Marvin."

Artemis followed, taking another step towards the circle of explosives. She raised one eyebrow in disbelief, "Marvin? It's name is Marvin?"

" _His_ name is Marvin," Oliver corrected, continuing to slowly move backwards, keeping his gun trained on the Olympian. One more step, he thought, one more, please.

The Goddess just scoffed, "Oh, did I hurt it's feelings?"

 _A little._

 _Shut up._

The Keeper just waited a beat and took one last step backwards, almost in front of his car now, and asked, "Can you tell me something?"

The Hunter just frowned and took one step forward, arrow drawn tight and aimed at Oliver's heart, "What?"

He could barely keep the stupid smile off of his face as he replied, "How does it feel to be outsmarted by a mortal?"

Oliver didn't wait to see her reaction. He crouched down onto his knees and turned so his back was facing the Goddess in one smooth motion, his hand sliding into his jacket pocket and wrapping around the cool plastic of the detonator. The arrow she had been holding went soaring just above his head as Artemis released it out of pure instinct, just barely missing the top of his skull. And then Oliver pressed the button.

Movies and television don't really understand how explosions work; they always depict the characters flicking their cigarette onto a trail of gasoline (cigarettes, by the way, don't even burn hot enough to ignite gasoline), before turning and walking away in slow-motion as the explosion goes on behind them. In real life, it doesn't go down like that. At All.

The moment Oliver pressed that button, he was hit from behind by an invisible truck and was heaved forward and slightly off the ground, face planting in the cold desert sand and dirt. Then, half a millisecond later, the sound hit his ears, and he was immediately reminded of his last experience with ungodly loud noises when his ears started to ring and throb painfully. He felt dirt and small rocks pelt his back and sting exposed skin as it rained down from where it was tossed into the air. Even though his ears were ringing, he felt like he had broken something in his general-torso area and he thought that he would be spitting out dirt for a month, he clawed his way back to his feet a few seconds after the explosion went off. Shaking off the daze he focused his gaze on his Impala, maybe only a half-dozen yards away, and started to sprint, without looking back to check on the Goddess at his back.

That was his first mistake.

Almost as soon as Oliver started his sprint his vision erupted into fiery orange, and his field of view expanded to encompass all of his surroundings. He saw one, two, three arrows, cloaked in flames tearing through the air towards his back. He jerked down and slightly to the left, stumbling forwards to keep his balance and stay on his feet as the arrows hissed past him. Two buried their heads into the chassis of his Impala with a sharp, metallic _thump,_ while one, either accidentally or on purpose Oliver will never know, struck the back tire that was facing Oliver, ripping apart the rubber with the sharp, snake-like hiss of releasing air. Oliver cursed and whipped around, his vision already attuned to the infrared spectrum, bringing up his USP and squeezing off a short volley of shots at the beaming red figure in the still-settling dirt and dust cloud.

Oliver wasn't very surprised when Artemis twitched and dodged every one of them, but his eyes did widen slightly when she pulled back her string mid-dodge and fired off three more arrows within seconds of each other. Oliver saw them coming, of course, but he was forced to bring his gun down and to the side as he ducked low to avoid the certain death. When he looked up to bring his gun online for another volley of shots a second later, Artemis was already in front of him. He hadn't even heard her move. And, even though he saw it coming, even though he could see the immediate feature, the Hunter Goddess was simply too fast for Oliver to track, a streak of silver movement much too fast for him to even comprehend as she cut him with a hunting knife that had appeared in her hand.

He felt a hot, searing gash open, running from his eyebrow all the way down to his chin, and the wholly unexpected pain forced him to flinch and stumble backwards, during which Artemis spun around on her heel and lashed out with a kick, crashing into Oliver's chest as a vile cracking sound filled the air. He was launched backwards, flying through the air from the sheer force of it, his gun slipping from his grasp as he slammed into the cold steel surface of his Impala, knocking the wind out of him and sending the back of his head snapping backwards into the hard, unforgiving surface.

Oliver felt something warm and wet run down the back of his neck as he desperately attempted to regain the air in his lungs and blink the concussion away. His chest and lungs felt like they were filled with crushed, super-heated glass, slicing and cutting and burrowing deeper into his flesh with every failed breath. His face was bleeding, the long cut oozing warm fluid that ran across his lips and dripped down to seep into the front of his shirt. The back of his head seemed to burn, and he started to feel a terrible, compressed pressure in that area, like something was trying to rip his skull apart from the inside out. Blood started to fill his mouth now, too, choking him with it's pungent, metallic stench. He heard Marvin, felt his warming presence in his mind, sounding panicked.

 _-iver, c'mon! Don't die from a kick to the chest man, that's the lamest way to go out I've ever seen in my goddamn life!_

With considerable effort, Oliver lifted his chin up and pried his eyes open. Artemis was approaching him, two long hunting knives in her hands, both as long as her forearms, glinting in the sliver of moonlight that beamed through the inky black clouds. She was walking, strolling really, across the small desert clearing, her eyes flicking to the unconscious form of Percy Jackson before refocusing on her prey.

The thick, coppery taste in Oliver's mouth was getting to be annoying. The blood was slick against his tongue and teeth, and he had to spit it onto the sand every so often so he didn't choke. The crescent moon above him bathed the battle torn clearing in soft moonlight, the night insects and creatures starting their song anew as Oliver's personal reaper came to collect. Marvin's voice was soft, warm as a campfire as he said. _Do you have any ideas?_

Oliver hacked up a wad of blood and mucus from the bottom of his mangled lungs and spat it onto the ground as he answered. _One._

As the silver-clad Goddess strode forward, her auburn hair slightly singed from the explosives Oliver had detonated, the mortal just weakly raised his left hand up. Before Artemis could decipher the gesture, Oliver flicked his wrist, the palm-sized .38 appearing in his hand like a magic trick. As soon as his finger wrapped around the trigger of the hidden weapon he opened fire, the sharp cracks of gunfire shattering the quasi-peace of the scene like Artemis shattered his rib-cage. He didn't know if he hit her or not, he thought he saw her head flinch slightly, but he didn't stop to check, to think, emptying the entire magazine as quickly as he could in the general direction of the Goddess in one final, desperate demonstration of defiance and spite.

But, just like before, it didn't matter. Artemis's movements were once again nothing but a silver streak, a barely-visible blur that effortlessly weaved and ducked in between the streaks of gunfire. And then, just as before, she was in front of him, towering over him and glaring down at him with cold, hateful silver eyes, judging him in an instant. With one hand she grabbed his left wrist and broke it with a twist of her own hand, sending a cold shock of pain coursing down Oliver's arm. And with the other hand she took one of her long, silver knives and brought it across in a diagonal slash that Oliver saw coming but was powerless to stop. The no-doubt magical blade ripped through the flesh, muscle and bone of his arm as though it was nothing but air, leaving a perfectly clean, bleeding stump that ended just above Oliver's elbow.

The oddest part was, Oliver barely felt the pain. Everything below his elbow was just a numb, vaguely prickling sensation that felt profoundly _wrong._ He stared at it for a while, feeling the cold seep into his bones as blood began to pour from the massive wound, staining the ground next to him and filling the air with the vile stench of blood that he had come to loath so dearly. His world was blood. He tasted it in his mouth, smelled it ravage his nostrils, saw it on the stump of where his arm was, felt it run warm down his neck and body, heard it roaring in his ears. He felt a cold hand grip his chin and pull it upwards, forcibly tearing his attention away, to be met by those terrible silver eyes. There was no pity in those eyes, no remorse, no semblance of humanity or warmth. Just a cold, ancient intelligence and predatory gleam of satisfaction as she watched him bleed on the ground, helpless and half-dead. She raised her knife, now coated in Oliver's blood, contrasting starkly with the rest of the pristine silver blade. And with that motion, Oliver knew he was going to die here, in the middle of the desert, thousands of miles from home and alone save for an unconscious demigod and the spirit he failed to protect.

Marvin just sighed softly. _You did good, Ollie, but I'll take it from here._

-M-

The last time Marvin had taken physical form was around four hundred years ago, when he saved a small French town from monsters he hasn't seen before or since, and was glad for it. He did the primordial equivalent of a stretch and focused, manifesting himself outside of the Containment Nexus around Oliver's neck. It was created by Prometheus to help contain and hide his power from the view of Olympus, and was originally much larger, at one point being bigger than a modern-day car. Now, it was about the size of a marble. Still, he managed to gather his essence into a humanoid figure standing just to the right of Artemis, made entirely of red-hot, writhing flames with flickering tongues of blue circling his head like a laurel leaf crown, his eyes two spots of white-hot, flickering flame. His presence lit up the clearing like someone had just trained a spotlight on the area, and the Hunter Goddess flinched and whirled around to face the new threat, knife raised. Her eyes widened as she felt the power radiating off of him in rolling, boiling waves of magical energy that warmed everything within three miles up a few dozen degrees.

"Hi," he said, a stressed kind of friendliness straining his voice, "I'm Marvin."

Fast as thought, his incorporeal hand lashed out and wrapped itself around the Goddess's throat, lifting into the air like a kitten, staring into her shocked silver eyes with his own burning irises. He remembered how Oliver felt, how alone and scared the mortal felt, even if he didn't even feel it himself, and Marvin wanted this whelp, this child to know it, to feel it. The Fire reached out magically, sending currents of white-hot magic into the Goddess's body, overwhelming the barriers she had constructed around herself with a mental wave of his hand. Artemis gasped as the pain hit her, unfamiliar and entirely unwelcome to an Olympian. She attempted to teleport away, to reassemble her essence somewhere else, anywhere else, but somehow The Fire's grip remained tight around her throat, that awful, searing pain still wracking her body.

Then, out of nowhere, Marvin felt a twinge of pain in the back of what could best be described as his head. He flinched, and the power to keep up his magically charged barrage left him. Artemis seized the moment to disappear in a flash of light, reappearing on the opposite side of the clearing, coughing, trembling slightly as the pain continued to run through her essence. The Goddess of the Moon found her way to her feet as Marvin glanced at Oliver, still resting against the side of the Impala. Dead or unconscious, Marvin didn't know, but he diverted about half of his magical power into a shield around the much more fragile mortal to keep him alive. Feeling significantly weaker but satisfied he was safe, he turned to face Artemis.

The Silver Lady was on her feet now, looking at Marvin with a mixture of anger, surprise and fear as she called out, "Who are you?"

Marvin was surprised she hadn't figured it out yet. He spread out his arms, the light radiating off of his fiery visage flickering and writhing on the ground as though it too was alive, "My name is Pyrra, the First Fire. Son of Erebus and Nyx, brother to Aither and Hermera. I was there when the first continents writhed and sank and roiled in lava when my kin was first forming the world. I was there when Hyperion first hefted his flaming sword to bring about a new day, I was there when Hephaestus first brought down his hammer to forge in Mount Olympus, and I was there when Mimas attempted to seize his place as God of Fire," Pyrra raised one flame-wreathed hand, white-hot tongues of magical energy flickering out from his palm, "I am Fire, little Goddess, and I command you to burn."

The magic erupted forth from his palm, condensing and spiraling and forming into a semi-concentrated beam of opaque, white fire that seemed to growl as it surged forward. It was so hot that it's mere presence set alight any plant matter in the immediate vicinity before it crashed into Artemis, the clearing soon erupting into a ring of scarlet flames. This time though, the Goddess seemed prepared. She threw her arms forward and a semi-transparent, wedge-shaped barrier of what Pyrra could only assume to be moonlight was erected in front of her. It split the magical fire down the middle and sent it surging along both sides of the barrier, licking upwards as it attempted to vault over this new obstacle and devour whoever it's master had set it upon. Even though it didn't strike it's intended target, the fire kept on going for another fifty-odd feet before it died out, erupting the desert behind Artemis into an almost solid wall of dancing red tongues. When Pyrra ceased the fire, he was only mildly surprised when he saw the Goddess of archery pull back three magical arrows, aim for a half-second, and then loose them all at his chest. He erected his own shield around himself; an invisible, almost solid mass of fiery magic. A second later Artemis loosed her arrows, glowing with brilliant, silver energy. The first one dissolved upon coming into contact with Pyrra's shield, the second was charred to crisp and then crumpled into ash within seconds of passing through it, but the third one hit him square in the chest.

The magically charged missile hit him like a ton of bricks, and he had to restrain himself from stumbling backwards. Come on, old man, he thought to himself, you can't go around tanking godly bursts of energy like that anymore. Calmly, and trying very hard to now show how much it actually hurt to do so, pulled the arrow out of his chest and, after considering it with a loathing glance, turned it to ash in his hand with a thought. As he looked back at the Goddess, he saw her bite her lip and discard her bow. Her eyes began to glow a luminous, misty sliver, and Pyrra felt the air begin to fill with her godly presence. Then, all at once, Artemis's entire essence was gathered into one spot and she erupted into a being of pure, cold energy and light. He felt the shields he had placed around Oliver buckle as the mortal no doubt glanced up to see what was happening, but they held steadfast when The Fire reaffirmed them. Now, Pyrra's light and the Goddess's clashed with each other, red and white wresting for control over the clearing as their magical auras did the same.

Around them the fires that had been started by Pyrra raged on as the being called Artemis raised one hand into the air, palm open, and then sharply brought it down, her form almost whining with the power that filled her. The moon in the sky, now shining brightly through the navy blue sky, glowed as though it too were alive. A second later, a pillar of magically charged light came roaring down from the night sky, and Pyrra was forced to raised both of his hands, forming multiple, thinner shields that shimmered in the air just in front of his palms. The first moon beam hit his front-most shield like an artillery shell, shredding the magical protection and sending shockwaves through the ground and shaking the earth. The three following consecutive attacks pounded his defenses, draining his magic and forcing him to one knee, his form now glowing dimly, barely any flames rising from his outline.

He saw Artemis, and he swore that she was grinning underneath her immortal form, gather up the energy into both of her hands, her shine now so bright that even Pyrra had to do the mortal equivalent of a squint. He considered moving out of the way of the attack, Grandfather knows he could move fast enough, but he remembered Oliver, broken and bleeding out on the ground behind him. And he knew that wasn't an option. So he grit his teeth and summoned up the last of his magic into a feeble barricade. The final moon beam, powered by Artemis herself, crashed into Pyrra like a runaway train, shattering his shield and launching him backwards so far and so hard that he ripped straight through the Impala, tearing it into two smoldering halves. He was flat on his back, drained, his aura now just a dull glow barely brighter than a flashlight as the Moon Goddess approched him, gathering her energy into one, final attack. You did good, old boy, Marvin thought, a small smile spreading across what could be considered his lips, you did good. That high-energy whine filled the air. Artemis's form glowed harshly as the power ran through her.

Then, in a moment that would be replayed throughout Marvin's mind for the rest of time, a hole was suddenly ripped through her shoulder, black and chaotic looking against the serene whiteness of her immortal form. A quarter-second later, the sound of a gunshot reached Marvin, but it wasn't one that recognized; it sounded sharper somehow, more focused. The Goddess screeched in pain, sounding entirely inhuman, and she whipped around to face the new attacker as Marvin gazed up in, for the first time in his long life, awe.

It was Oliver, bleeding, limping and breathing in short, painful gasps that left blood trickling down his lips, his outline framed in the fires that raged behind him, making him appear larger than life, like he had just stepped out of legend, a hero back from the dead to vanquish the dragon. In his right hand he held The Equalizer, it's cast-iron components gleaming in the firelight, and his eyes burned with a cold, focused hatred directed entirely at the shining white form in front of him. Artemis made to move or teleport, but was unable to. A glance at the ground revealed the reason; the earth had grown itself around her ankles like the fingers of some unspeakable evil, somehow pinning the immortal Goddess in place. She had no time to think of an escape, however, as Oliver coolly pulled back the hammer, raised the instrument of destruction in his hand and made it sing in one smooth motion. How he was even standing, let alone walking, aiming and firing accurately was a mystery that would haunt Marvin for the rest of his days. Regardless, the second Stygian Iron bullet tore a second hole into Aretmis's form, this one just above the sternum, and she gave another scream of pain as it too tore a black, chaotic hole in her essence, sucking in all the light around it. But, Oliver's spite was not meant to last.

Artemis flung out her hand, and a much smaller, weaker version of the moon beams she attacked Pyrra with was sent forth from her palm, striking Oliver in the chest. The godly magic burned a hole clean through the mortal's heart, and the Keeper of Fire crumpled to the ground, dead in an instant. Marvin looked at the corpse in disbelief. No, he wasn't dead, not so fast, not so suddenly. After all of this, all the shit he's been through, Oliver Irons was killed by a fucking girl scout, a child throwing a tantrum that one of her little friends died because of something Oliver had no involvement in. Pyrra felt something run through then, something he hasn't felt in uncounted millennia; true, cold hatred that sank into his very being. The First Fire gathered up the tattered remnants of his power, felt it surge through him like a shot of warm spirits, but he didn't stop with just his own power. He reached out with his consciousness, wielding the divine authority he possessed to terrible effectiveness; he asked, no, _demanded_ that every fire, every flickering flame and infant tongue of heat that could hear him to give him their strength. Every forest fire in California, every cigarette in Las Vegas, every single one that he could reach. And they bowed to his will.

Within a hundred miles, fires went out immediately as their essence was drawn to and absorbed by Prrya, streaks of orange and red and blue soaring through the air and sinking into the First Fire's manifestation. His aura seemed to sing as it erupted into white flames and he rose to his feet, a primeval choir of ancient energies that made him feel a thousand years old again. He turned his eyes to Artemis, trapped, injured, the black holes in her chest and shoulder getting larger by the second, gazing at him with open fear, her own immortal form flickering as she struggled to maintain it. Prrya raised his palm, gathered the entire choir into his hand, and commanded in a divine, rippling voice, "Burn."

At his command, the gathered choir of power rose and reached a terrible crescendo, manifesting itself into a tidal wave of pure heat and light that charged, leaped and surged forward, crashing into Artemis's trapped form. This time, there was nothing to defend her; the pure, primordial fire poured over the Goddess like a tsunami, an unstoppable wall of power the ripped apart her essence piece by piece. The Goddess's immortal form was ripped away, taken by the fire, until her physical form was scorched to a blackened husk, and the fire ceased. The husk of charred bone and skin, now without a soul to inhabit it, crumpled into hot, black ash that was blown away in the wind. Underneath them, sand was super-heated in an instant and was turned to glass, which then melted almost immediately after, leaving a majority of the clearing a half-melted wasteland. Marvin sighed, suddenly feeling drained. Artemis wasn't dead, Marvin knew that much; he had only scattered her essence, not destroyed it. Only his grandfather could do that. But he has put her out of commission for the foreseeable future. Not that it mattered, really. The skies above him had begun to go black, and he heard thunder roll in the distance.

Marvin just sighed and walked back to Oliver's corpse, the clean, burned hole in his chest staring up at Marvin like the eye of a cyclopes, mocking him. He closed the man's eyes with his finger, careful not to burn them away at his touch and rubbed his face. Olympus would be on him soon, he knew; in his rage at Artemis he had completely shredded the protective barrier Prometheus had placed around the two, so long ago. Marvin really didn't feel like fighting eleven more of those bastards, so he settled and calmed his essence, lowering himself back into the Containment Nexus with an appreciative sigh; like a hot bath after hell. He forgot which one of his previous Keepers had said that. Catherine? Leon? He wasn't really sure, and the memory of their face escaped him. The Nexus was a blessing and a curse; inside of it, he could hide and gather his strength, even give it to another mortal as long as they wore it. The downside was, he couldn't go more than a few dozen miles outside of it without his essence risking of breaking apart. Marvin didn't care, though; it was the closest thing to a home he had. Thunder crashed in the distance, closer, but Marvin only regarded it with apathy. Zeus and his damned entrances.

Marvin yawned, or what could pass for one, and settled into his Nexus, muttering to himself and the world, "We tried, eh Oliver? We tried. Put up a good fight, too," he yawned again, "but I'm taking a nap. Let me know when we get to hell."

With that, the Original Fire closed his eyes and went to sleep, the thunder right above him, a bearded face staring down at him in fury, and a cold voice slithered into his mind.

 _Impressive. Very impressive._

 **-End of Act 3-**

 **-End-**

(And there we have it. My longest chapter ever; 5,400 words, not including this little A/N. I sincerely hope you enjoyed my first fanfiction. I know that ending was kinda depressing, but it's how I wanted it. And, let's be real, here, I'm gonna continue this eventually. Please, let me know how I can improve my writing style, I'm still trying to iron it out. I know I read a lot of reviews talking about plot progression, and I really do appreciate that criticism; it was legitimate and genuinely helpful, so I'll keep that in mind for next time. Tell me what you liked about it so I can take that into account for any of my future stories, too; I want to give you guys the most entertainment I can physically provide, so tell me what was good and bad to make it better for the future. I might take a break for a bit, maybe until December, until I start writing again on a constant basis, but don't be surprised to see some one-shots coming your way in 'The Legacy of Fire'.

This is the Czar, signing off.)


	16. Second Book is published

I did it, boys and girls.

The second book of The Godkiller Chronicles is now up and published.

It's called 'Oliver Irons and the Unwanted War', just in case you did not know. If you care, go check it out. It you don't, sorry for bothering you.

Merry Christmas. Or happy holidays. Whatever.


End file.
